Suddenly a window was opened.
Upon Hell.
Dante, had he leaned over the summit of the shadow, would have been able to see the eighth circle of his poem; the funereal3 Boulevard Montmartre.
Paris, a prey4 to Bonaparte; a monstrous5 spectacle. The gloomy armed men massed together on this boulevard felt an appalling6 spirit enter into them; they ceased to be themselves, and became demons7.
There was no longer a single French soldier, but a host of indefinable phantoms8, carrying out a horrible task, as though in the glimmering9 light of a vision.
There was no longer a flag, there was no longer law, there was no longer humanity, there was no longer a country, there was no longer France; they began to assassinate10.
The Schinderhannes division, the brigades of Mandrin, Cartouche, Poulailler, Trestaillon, and Tropmann appeared in the gloom, shooting down and massacring.
No; we do not attribute to the French army what took place during this mournful eclipse of honor.
There have been massacres11 in history, abominable12 ones assuredly, but they have possessed13 some show of reason; Saint Bartholomew and the Dragonnades are explained by religion, the Sicilian Vespers and the butcheries of September are explained by patriotism14; they crush the enemy or annihilate15 the foreigner; these are crimes for a good cause; but the carnage of the Boulevard Montmartre is a crime without an ostensible17 reason.
The reason exists, however. It is hideous18.
Let us give it.
Two things stand erect19 in a State, the Law and the People.
A man murders the Law. He feels the punishment approaching, there only remains20 one thing for him to do, to murder the People. He murders the People.
The Second of December was the Risk, the Fourth was the Certainty.
Against the indignation which arose they opposed the Terror.
The Fury, Justice, halted petrified21 before the Fury, Extermination22. Against Erinnyes they set up Medusa.
To put Nemesis23 to flight, what a terrifying triumph!
To Louis Napoleon pertains24 this glory, which is the summit of his shame.
Let us narrate what History had never seen before.
The assassination26 of a people by a man.
Suddenly, at a given signal, a musket27 shot being fired, no matter where, no matter by whom, the shower of bullets poured upon the crowd. A shower of bullets is also a crowd; it is death scattered28 broadcast. It does not know whither it goes, nor what it does; it kills and passes on.
But at the same time it has a species of soul; it is premeditated, it executes a will. This was an unprecedented29 moment. It seemed as though a handful of lightnings was falling upon the people. Nothing simpler. It formed a clear solution to the difficulty; the rain of lead overwhelmed the multitude. What are you doing there? Die! It is a crime to be passing by. Why are you in the street? Why do you cross the path of the Government? The Government is a cut-throat. They have announced a thing, they must certainly carry it out; what is begun must assuredly be achieved; as Society is being saved, the People must assuredly be exterminated30.
Are there not social necessities? Is it not essential that Béville should have 87,000 francs a year and Fleury 95,000 francs? Is it not essential that the High Chaplain, Menjaud, Bishop31 of Nancy, should have 342 francs a day, and that Bassano and Cambacérès should each have 383 francs a day, and Vaillant 468 francs, and Saint–Arnaud 822 francs? Is it not necessary that Louis Bonaparte should have 76,712 francs a day? Could one be Emperor for less?
In the twinkling of an eye there was a butchery on the boulevard a quarter of a league long. Eleven pieces of cannon32 wrecked33 the Sallandrouze carpet warehouse34. The shot tore completely through twenty-eight houses. The baths of Jouvence were riddled36. There was a massacre at Tortoni’s. A whole quarter of Paris was filled with an immense flying mass, and with a terrible cry. Everywhere sudden death. A man is expecting nothing. He falls. From whence does this come? From above, say the Bishops’ Te Deum; from below, says Truth.
From a lower place than the galleys37, from a lower place than Hell.
It is the conception of a Caligula, carried out by a Papavoine.
Xavier Durrieu comes upon the boulevard. He states,—
“I have taken sixty steps, I have seen sixty corpses38.”
And he draws back. To be in the street is a Crime, to be at home is a Crime. The butchers enter the houses and slaughter40. In slaughter-house slang the soldiers cry, “Let us pole-axe the lot of them.”
Adde, a bookseller, of 17, Boulevard Poissonnière, is standing41 before his door; they kill him. At the same moment, for the field of murder is vast, at a considerable distance from there, at 5, Rue42 de Lancry, M. Thirion de Montauban, owner of the house, is at his door; they kill him. In the Rue Tiquetonne a child of seven years, named Boursier, is passing by; they kill him. Mdlle. Soulac, 196, Rue du Temple, opens her window; they kill her. At No. 97, in the same street, two women, Mesdames Vidal and Raboisson, sempstresses, are in their room; they kill them. Belval, a cabinet-maker, 10, Rue de la Lune, is at home; they kill him. Deba?cque, a merchant, 45, Rue du Sentier, is in his own house; Couvercelle, florist44, 257, Rue Saint Denis, is in his own house; Labitte, a jeweller, 55, Boulevard Saint Martin, is in his own house; Monpelas, perfumer, 181, Rue Saint Martin, is in his own house; they kill Monpelas, Labitte, Couvercelle, and Deba?cque. They sabre at her own home, 240, Rue Saint Martin, a poor embroideress, Mdlle. Seguin, who not having sufficient money to pay for a doctor, died at the Beaujon hospital, on the 1st of January, 1852, on the same day that the Sibour Te Deum was chanted at Notre Dame43. Another, a waistcoat-maker, Fran?oise No?l, was shot down at 20, Rue du Faubourg Montmartre, and died in the Charité. Another, Madame Ledaust, a working housekeeper45, living at 76, Passage du Caire, was shot down before the Archbishop’s palace, and died at the Morgue. Passers-by, Mdlle. Gressier, living at 209, Faubourg Saint Martin; Madame Guilard, living at 77, Boulevard Saint Denis; Madame Gamier, living at 6, Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle, who had fallen, the first named beneath the volleys on the Boulevard Montmartre, the two others on the Boulevard Saint Denis, and who were still alive, attempted to rise, and became targets for the soldiers, bursting with laughter, and this time fell back again dead. Deeds of gallantry ware35 performed. Colonel Rochefort, who was probably created General for this, charged in the Rue do la Paix at the head of his Lancers a flock of nurses, who were put to flight.
Such was this indescribable enterprise. All the men who took part in it were instigated46 by hidden influences; all had something which urged them forward; Herbillon had Zaatcha behind him; Saint–Arnaud had Kabylia; Renault had the affair of the Saint–André and Saint Hippolyte villages; Espinasse, Rome and the storming of the 30th of June; Magnan, his debts.
Must we continue? We hesitate. Dr. Piquet, a man of seventy, was killed in his drawing-room by a ball in his stomach; the painter Jollivart, by a ball in the forehead, before his easel, his brains bespattered his painting. The English captain, William Jesse, narrowly escaped a ball which pierced the ceiling above his head; in the library adjoining the Magasins du Prophète, a father, mother, and two daughters were sabred. Lefilleul, another bookseller, was shot in his shop on the Boulevard Poissonnière; in the Rue Lepelletier, Boyer, a chemist, seated at his counter, was “spitted” by the Lancers. A captain, killing48 all before him, took by storm the house of the Grand Balcon. A servant was killed in the shop of Brandus. Reybell through the volleys said to Sax, “And I also am discoursing49 sweet music.” The Café Leblond was given over to pillage50. Billecoq’s establishment was bombarded to such a degree that it had to be pulled down the next day. Before Jouvain’s house lay a heap of corpses, amongst them an old man with his umbrella, and a young man with his eye-glass. The H?tel de Castille, the Maison Dorée, the Petite Jeannette, the Café de Paris, the Café Anglais became for three hours the targets of the cannonade. Raquenault’s house crumbled51 beneath the shells; the bullets demolished52 the Montmartre Bazaar53.
None escaped. The guns and pistols were fired at close quarters.
New Year’s-day was not far off, some shops were full of New Year’s gifts. In the passage du Saumon, a child of thirteen, flying before the platoon-firing, hid himself in one of these shops, beneath a heap of toys. He was captured and killed. Those who killed him laughingly widened his wounds with their swords. A woman told me, “The cries of the poor little fellow could be heard all through the passage.” Four men were shot before the same shop. The officer said to them, “This will teach you to loaf about.” A fifth named Mailleret, who was left for dead, was carried the next day with eleven wounds to the Charité. There he died.
They fired into the cellars by the air-holes.
A workman, a currier, named Moulins, who had taken refuge in one of these shot-riddled cellars, saw through the cellar air-hole a passer-by, who had been wounded in the thigh54 by a bullet, sit down on the pavement with the death rattle55 in his throat, and lean against a shop. Some soldiers who heard this rattle ran up and finished off the wounded man with bayonet thrusts.
One brigade killed the passer-by from the Madeleine to the Opera, another from the Opera to the Gymmase; another from the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle to the Porte Saint Denis; the 75th of the line having carried the barricade56 of the Porte Saint Denis, it was no longer a fight, it was a slaughter. The massacre radiated — a word horribly true — from the boulevard into all the streets. It was a devil-fish stretching out its feelers. Flight? Why? Concealment57? To what purpose? Death ran after you quicker than you could fly. In the Rue Pagevin a soldier said to a passer-by, “What are you doing here?” “I am going home.” The soldier kills the passer-by. In the Rue des Marais they kill four young men in their own courtyard. Colonel Espinasse exclaimed, “After the bayonet, cannon!” Colonel Rochefort exclaimed, “Thrust, bleed, slash58!” and he added, “It is an economy of powder and noise.” Before Barbedienne’s establishment an officer was showing his gun, an arm of considerable precision, admiringly to his comrades, and he said, “With this gun I can score magnificent shots between the eyes.” having said this, he aimed at random59 at some one, and succeeded. The carnage was frenzied60. While the butchering under the orders of Carrelet filled the boulevard, the Bourgon brigade devastated61 the Temple, the Marulaz brigade devastated the Rue Rambuteau; the Renault division distinguished62 itself on the “other side of the water.” Renault was that general, who, at Mascara, had given his pistols to Charras. In 1848 he had said to Charras, “Europe must be revolutionized.” And Charras had said, “Not quite so fast!” Louis Bonaparte had made him a General of Division in July, 1851. The Rue aux Ours was especially devastated. Morny that evening said to Louis Bonaparte, “The 15th Light Infantry63 have scored a success. They have cleaned out the Rue aux Ours.”
At the corner of the Rue du Sentier an officer of Spahis, with his sword raised, cried out, “This is not the sort of thing! You do not understand at all. Fire on the women.” A woman was flying, she was with child, she falls, they deliver her by the means of the butt-ends of their muskets64. Another, perfectly65 distracted, was turning the corner of a street. She was carrying a child. Two soldiers aimed at her. One said, “At the woman!” And he brought down the woman. The child rolled on the pavement. The other soldier said, “At the child!” And he killed the child.
A man of high scientific repute, Dr. Germain Sée, declares that in one house alone, the establishment of the Jouvence Baths, there were at six o’clock, beneath a shed in the courtyard, about eighty wounded, nearly all of whom (seventy, at least) were old men, women, and children. Dr. Sée was the first to attend to them.
In the Rue Mandar, there was, stated an eye-witness, “a rosary of corpses,” reaching as far as the Rue Neuve Saint Eustache. Before the house of Odier twenty-six corpses. Thirty before the hotel Montmorency. Fifty-two before the Variétés, of whom eleven were women. In the Rue Grange–Batelière there were three naked corpses. No. 19, Faubourg Montmartre, was full of dead and wounded.
A woman, flying and maddened, with dishevelled hair and her arms raised aloft, ran along the Rue Poissonnière, crying, “They kill! they kill! they kill! they kill! they kill!”
The soldiers wagered66. “Bet you I bring down that fellow there.” In this manner Count Poninsky was killed whilst going into his own house, 52, Rue de la Paix.
I was anxious to know what I ought to do. Certain treasons, in order to be proved, need to be investigated. I went to the field of murder.
In such mental agony as this, from very excess of feeling one no longer thinks, or if one thinks, it is distractedly. One only longs for some end or other. The death of others instills in you so much horror that your own death becomes an object of desire; that is to say, if by dying, you would be in some degree useful! One calls to mind deaths which have put an end to angers and to revolts. One only retains this ambition, to be a useful corpse39.
I walked along terribly thoughtful.
I went towards the boulevards; I saw there a furnace; I heard there a thunderstorm.
I saw Jules Simon coming up to me, who during these disastrous67 days bravely risked a precious life. He stopped me. “Where are you going?” he asked me. “You will be killed. What do you want?” “That very thing,” said I.
We shook hands.
I continued to go on.
I reached the boulevard; the scene was indescribable. I witnessed this crime, this butchery, this tragedy. I saw that reign16 of blind death, I saw the distracted victims fall around me in crowds. It is for this that I have signed myself in this book AN EYE-WITNESS.
Destiny entertains a purpose. It watches mysteriously over the future historian. It allows him to mingle68 with exterminations and carnages, but it does not permit him to die, because it wishes him to relate them.
In the midst of this inexpressible Pandemonium69, Xavier Durrieu met me as I was crossing the bullet-swept boulevard. He said to me, “Ah, here you are. I have just met Madame D. She is looking for you.” Madame D.24 and Madame de la R.,25 two noble and brave women, had promised Madame Victor Hugo, who was ill in bed, to ascertain70 where I was, and to give her some news of me. Madame D. had heroically ventured into this carnage. The following incident happened to her. She stopped before a heap of bodies, and had had the courage to manifest her indignation; at the cry of horror to which she gave vent47, a cavalry71 soldier had run up behind her with a pistol in his hand, and had it not been for a quickly opened door through which she threw herself, and which saved her, she would have been killed.
It is well known that the total slaughter in this butchery is unrecorded. Bonaparte has kept these figures hidden in darkness. Such is the habit of those who commit massacres. They are scarcely likely to allow history to certify72 the number of the victims. These statistics are an obscure multitude which quickly lose themselves in the gloom. One of the two colonels of whom we have had a glimpse in pages 223–225 of this work, has stated that his regiment73 alone had killed “at least 2,500 persons.” This would be more than one person per soldier. We believe that this zealous74 colonel exaggerates. Crime sometimes boasts of its blackness.
Lireux, a writer, arrested in order to be shot, and who escaped by a miracle, declares that he saw “more than 800 corpses.”
Towards four o’clock the post-chaises which were in the courtyard of the Elysée were unhorsed and put up.
This extermination, which an English witness, Captain William Jesse, calls “a wanton fusillade,” lasted from two till five o’clock. During these three terrible hours, Louis Bonaparte carried out what he had been premeditating, and completed his work. Up to that time the poor little “middle-class” conscience was almost indulgent. Well, what of it? It was a game at Prince, a species of state swindling, a conjuring75 feat76 on a large scale; the sceptics and the knowing men said, “It is a good joke played upon those idiots.” Suddenly Louis Bonaparte grew uneasy and revealed all his policy. “Tell Saint–Arnaud to execute my orders.” Saint–Arnaud obeyed, the coup77 d’état acted according to its own code of laws, and from that appalling moment an immense torrent78 of blood began to flow across this crime.
They left the corpses lying on the pavements, wild-looking, livid, stupefied, with their pockets turned inside out. The military murderer is thus condemned79 to mount the villainous scale of guilt80. In the morning an assassin, in the evening a thief.
When night came enthusiasm and joy reigned81 at the Elysée. These men triumphed. Conneau has ingeniously related the scene. The familiar spirits were delirious82 with joy. Fialin addressed Bonaparte in hail-fellow-well-met style. “You had better break yourself of that,” whispered Vieillard. In truth this carnage made Bonaparte Emperor. He was now “His Majesty83.” They drank, they smoked like the soldiers on the boulevards; for having slaughtered84 throughout the day, they drank throughout the night; wine flowed upon the blood. At the Elysée they were amazed at the result. They were enraptured85; they loudly expressed their admiration86. “What a capital idea the Prince had had! How well the thing had been managed! This was much better than flying the country, by Dieppe, like D’Haussez; or by Membrolle, like Guernon–Ranville; or being captured, disguised as a footboy, and blacking the boots of Madame de Saint Fargeau, like poor Polignac!” “Guizot was no cleverer than Polignac,” exclaimed Persigny. Fleury turned to Morny: “Your theorists would not have succeeded in a coup d’état.” “That is true, they were not particularly vigorous,” answered Morny. He added, “And yet they were clever men,— Louis Philippe, Guizot, Thiers —” Louis Bonaparte, taking his cigarette from his lips, interrupted, “If such are clever men, I would rather be an ass2 —”
“A hyena87 in an ass’s skin,” says History.
收听单词发音 |
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massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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funereal
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| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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assassinate
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| vt.暗杀，行刺，中伤 | |
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massacres
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| 大屠杀( massacre的名词复数 )； 惨败 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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annihilate
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| v.使无效；毁灭；取消 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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ostensible
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| adj.(指理由)表面的，假装的 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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extermination
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| n.消灭，根绝 | |
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nemesis
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| n.给以报应者，复仇者，难以对付的敌手 | |
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pertains
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| 关于( pertain的第三人称单数 )； 有关； 存在； 适用 | |
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narrate
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| v.讲，叙述 | |
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assassination
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| n.暗杀；暗杀事件 | |
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musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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exterminated
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| v.消灭，根绝( exterminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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ware
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| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
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riddled
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| adj.布满的；充斥的；泛滥的v.解谜，出谜题(riddle的过去分词形式) | |
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galleys
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| n.平底大船，战舰( galley的名词复数 )；（船上或航空器上的）厨房 | |
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corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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florist
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| n.花商；种花者 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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instigated
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| v.使（某事物）开始或发生，鼓动( instigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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discoursing
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| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
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pillage
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| v.抢劫；掠夺；n.抢劫，掠夺；掠夺物 | |
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crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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demolished
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| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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slash
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| vi.大幅度削减；vt.猛砍，尖锐抨击，大幅减少；n.猛砍，斜线，长切口，衣衩 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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devastated
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| v.彻底破坏( devastate的过去式和过去分词)；摧毁；毁灭；在感情上（精神上、财务上等）压垮adj.毁坏的；极为震惊的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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wagered
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| v.在（某物）上赌钱，打赌( wager的过去式和过去分词 )；保证，担保 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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pandemonium
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| n.喧嚣，大混乱 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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certify
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| vt.证明，证实；发证书(或执照)给 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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conjuring
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| n.魔术 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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83
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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enraptured
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| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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hyena
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| n.土狼，鬣狗 | |
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