THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

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      “Yes, yes!” howled the workmen. “To the barricades! to the barricades!”

      At that moment Mathéus glanced towards the upper part of the street and perceived a company of National Guards advancing with a heavy tread.

      “You see, brothers,” he exclaimed, “they are sending these men to massacre us. We will defend ourselves to the last!”

      The people were intoxicated, they shook their fists at the National Guards and looked for stones to throw at them.

      “No, not here, we could not hold out for five minutes,” said Mathéus. “Come!”

      The workmen followed him. They wanted a chief and they chose this man because he spoke of massacre. They ran to the Rue de Rome. Just then three large empty carts were passing along the street. The spy sprang to the head of the first horse, and notwithstanding the carter’s cries ordered his men to unharness it. Then, when that was done, he said to the driver:

      “Take away your horses. The people want the carts. They’ll pay you if they conquer.”

      Turning towards the crowd he pointed to the Rue de la Palud which faced them and added:

      “Quick, shove these carts along and turn them over on the side, across this street. Search in the adjoining shops and see if you can’t find something to add to the barricade.”

      In five minutes the obstruction was raised. It was only composed of three carts and a few empty barrels which had been found in a neighbouring cellar. It was foolish to think seriously of defending themselves there. But the rioters were mad with irritation, they did not even trouble to reflect that they had no arms, and were about to be riddled with bullets without being able to respond.

      Mathéus silently enjoyed the fun. At the bottom of his heart he was not sorry to get some of his good friends, the workmen, killed, for they had been wearying him profoundly during the past four months with their humanitarian speeches. Besides, there must be at least one corpse in order for his plans to be successful, and for that reason he had taken care that the barricade should be full of holes so that the bullets might pass through it.

      A deathlike silence reigned around. The workmen, lying flat on the ground, waited. All of a sudden, they heard the heavy, measured tread of a company advancing in the Rue de Rome. Then only did they remember that they had no arms. Furiously they, commenced tearing the stones out of the road: flat, sharp stones that would play terrible havoc.

      The heavy, measured tread became more and more distinct. At last, the company which the workmen had already seen behind them, appeared at the corner of the Rue de Rome. Captain Sauvaire who was marching at the head, stopped anxiously before the barricade. At the same moment a shower of stones fell on the National Guards. Men were wounded and the captain’s shako was smashed in with a large flint.

      The company retreated a few steps at this sudden attack. Stones continued to arrive falling one by one into the body of men with dull thuds. Then a police commissary left the ranks and read aloud the three, legal summonses to disperse, amidst profound silence. The rioters, who had expended all their store of stones were again lying down tearing up the road and preparing for the struggle, without even listening to the summonses.

      As they rose, the police commissary withdrew, the muzzles of the muskets were lowered and a shower of bullets passed over the barricade. They had only just time to stoop down, to hide in the recesses of the doorways, anywhere, in fact, where they could find shelter. None of them were wounded. Their rage was such that they did not think of flight; they continued throwing stones, hiding themselves as best they could. The badly-aimed shots passed over their heads or were lost at the base of the barricade.

      Mathéus had prudently found shelter behind a huge cask. From there he encouraged his men, furious at the clumsiness of the National Guards and endeavouring to place the workmen in the line of fire.

      He murmured between his teeth:

      “You’ll see that not one of those wretches will get killed!”

      He was not without feeling a certain terror. He knew better than anyone that the barricade would be captured as soon as the National Guards chose, and he disliked falling into their hands, as that would have put a sudden stop to the exploits he meditated. He wanted a corpse, nothing more: after that he would fly as fast as his legs could carry him. The misfortune was that none of the rioters seemed disposed to get killed.

      For five long minutes he remained behind his cask, sweating with fear and anxiety. The firing continued, causing splinters of wood to fly about and riddling the carts with bullets. The workmen did not dare leave their hiding place. At last one of them decided to risk his presence in the middle of the street to gather a new lot of stones. He slid along behind the barricade, taking advantage of every bit of shelter.

      Mathéus followed his movements with glittering eyes. He felt this man would be the victim he so much desired.

      “Here’s my man,” he thought. “If he passes in front of that gap, which I took care to leave open, he will be shot down.”

      He had noticed that during the last few moments, bullets had been pouring through the aperture in question. As the workman had quietly set about tearing up paving stones, he beckoned him with energetic gestures to approach. The man, without the least distrust, thinking the chief had something important to tell him, began crawling along slowly behind the barricade. The time came when he found himself opposite the breach. Eight or ten bullets entered his body and laid him low. He struggled atrociously, then remained quiet, with his face towards the earth.

      Then, Mathéus uttered a terrible cry, and all the rioters dashed into the middle of the street howling with exasperation. The National Guards ceased firing, thinking that those who were at the barricade yielded. The spy took advantage of that circumstance to carry off the corpse. He called for assistance, placed the dead body on the workmen’s shoulders and crying aloud for vengeance, put himself at their head.

      “To arms! let the people know that the Guard fires upon unarmed men. To arms! to arms! They are murdering our brothers!”

      And in a low undertone he said to himself:

      “I have my corpse, the people will fight.”

      The party he was leading fled by the Rue de la Palud, and their retreat was marked by their cries, as they bore away the body of their dead brother like a standard of horror and revolt.

      It was at that moment that Marius and Philippe arrived at the scene of the encounter. They found the company of National Guards stationed in the middle of the Rue de Rome among the remains of the three carts, looking very much embarrassed at their victory; for they had imagined they had to deal with at least a hundred men, and were quite confused on ascertaining that for nearly a quarter of an hour, they had been keeping up a brisk fire against only about a dozen poor wretches. They felt the horrible and sanguinary absurdity of their mistake.

      Captain Sauvaire was exasperated. At the bottom of his heart, what irritated him the most, was the terrible blow his shako had received at the commencement of the action. He considered himself attained in the dignity of his uniform, and feared that all the prestige of his beautiful costume was escaping by the hole made by the revolutionary stone of an insurgent.

      Marius, on recognising him, hastened up to him, to obtain some information as to what had occurred. But the ex-master-stevedore did not give him time to question him.

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