Denis Dussoubs continued: "He spoke for some twenty minutes," an

eye-witness has told me. Another has said, "He spoke with a loud voice;

the whole street heard him." He was vehement, eloquent, earnest; a judge

for Bonaparte, a friend for the soldiers. He sought to rouse them by

everything which could still vibrate in them; he recalled to them their

true wars, their true victories, the national glory, the ancient

military honor, the flag. He told them that all this was about to be

slain by the bullets from their guns. He adjured them, he ordered them

to join themselves to the People and to the Law; and then suddenly

coming back to the first words which he had pronounced, carried away by

that fraternity with which his soul overflowed, he interrupted himself

in the middle of a half-completed sentence, and cried out:--

"But to what purpose are all these words? It is not all this that is

wanted, it is a shake of the hand between brothers! Soldiers, you are

there opposite us, at a hundred paces from us, in a barricade, with the

sword drawn, with guns pointed; you are aiming directly at me; well

then, all of us who are here love you! There is not one of us who would

not give his life for one of you. You are the peasants of the fields of

France; we are the workmen of Paris. What, then, is in question? Simply

to see each other, to speak to each other, and not to cut each other's

throats. Shall we try this? Say! Ah! as for myself in this frightful

battle-field of civil war, I would rather die than kill. Look now, I am

going to get off this barricade and come to you. I am unarmed; I only

know that you are my brothers. I am confident, I am calm; and if one of

you presents his bayonet at me, I will offer him my hand."

He finished speaking.

511

The History of a Crime