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1897.

1.76
95
"SO THEY BATTLED ON, THE WOMEN
FIGHTING AS BRAVELY AS THE
MEN."-Page 112.
The Red Spell
BY
FRANCIS GRIBBLE
WITH FRontispiece BY
FRANK M. GREGORY
New York and London
FREDERICK A, STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
UNIVERSITY OF
MINNESOTA
LIBRARY
COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
All Rights Reserved.
JUL 2 '41
8120871
OR
THE RED SPELL.
CHAPTER I.
THE place was the Palace of the
Tuileries, and the time was the
evening of the fourteenth day of
May, 1871. There was a great fête
given there that night, "for the
benefit "—so ran the placards—“ of
the widows and orphans of the
Commune. Jus seven days later,
the soldiers of Versailles were to
pour into Paris through the Saint
Cloud Gate, and, in the name of
order, snuff the Commune out.
for the mass of the people, there
were no signs of that as yet; and,
in the meantime, the widows and
969115
But,
The Red Spell.
·
orphans profited, and the lights
flared from the windows of the
palace, and the populace made
holiday in the gardens.
For the rule of Commune in Paris
was not, as some suppose, a reign
of gloom and terror. Its gloom
disappeared before the native
gaiety of a mercurial people; its
terror was only for an individual
here and there.
Certain things happened, it is
true-the picturesque things that
people talked about. A few priests
were arrested-your true Parisian
revolutionist is never quite so happy
as when he is arresting priests. A
few nuns were taken from their
convents and packed off to the
Penitentiary at St. Lazare-the
relations between revolutionists and
nuns are nearly always strained.
Queer stories were told, too, of the
unseemly midnight revelry of loose
company at the Prefecture of Police.
The Red Spell.
5
And detachments of the National
Guard, more often drunk than
sober, would knock at the door of
any house they chose to pitch upon,
and search the premises for con-
scripts, who would be promptly
uniformed and marched off to the
trenches at Neuilly or Courbevoie.
And peaceable civilians, who dis-
liked to be enlisted in this rough
and ready manner, might be con-
strained to hide themselves in
empty wine casks in the cellar, or
to bribe the sentries to lower them
over the ramparts after night-fall.
Also, there was a park of artillery
in the square opposite the Hôtel de
Ville, and the ruffians of Belleville
-male and female-made club-
houses of the churches, and would
smoke and drink there, using the
font for a tobacco box; and soldiers
would be met marching out to bat-
tle with loaves of bread stuck on the
points of their bayonets; and the
6
The Red Spell.
casual passer-by, as he went down
the street, would be stopped and
bidden to lend a hand at the build-
ing of a barricade.
But these things-the picturesque
and painful things-only happened
intermittently, and have been re-
membered and talked about out of
all relation to their real importance.
They were, in fact, to most people.
rather a show to look on at than an
essential part of life. For most
people, after all, were not arrested,
and most people escaped the visita-
tions of the National Guards, or
found them corruptible with five
franc pieces, so that the social life
of Paris went on much as usual.
The rich were still rich, and the poor
still poor, although the Commune
had abolished rents. The workmen
still drank the same thin, sour wine,
as heretofore, while Monsieur Raoul
Regault, and his friend Monsieur
Ferré spent eighty francs upon a
The Red Spell.
7
single lunch. For the rest, the
children still went to school, the
câfés were still open and fre-
quented, shops still exhibited their
wares, the theatres still gave per-
formances to crowded houses, and
the mass of men and women were
more occupied with their own pri-
vate comedies and tragedies than
with the greatest drama of the
social revolution that was being
played out in their midst. Above
all, the people still kept their gaiety,
and still amused themselves.
That night in particular the
gaiety was great. Emperor Napo-
leon and his court had shut the
people out from the Garden of the
Tuileries, and now they had come
into their own again, and were wel-
coming themselves back to their
estate, without any thought of the
horrors that were to come. The
shells from the bombarding bat-
teries that burst in the dark avenue
8
The Red Spell.
of the Champs Elysèes near at hand
only moved their mirth. They
laughed and sang and danced and
pushed against each other like
children just let out to play.
There must have been ten thou-
sand merry-makers at the least-
high and low, rich and poor, well-
dressed and ragged. But this story
only concerns itself with two of
them-two lovers, whose true love
the Commune had arrived to trouble
—Elise Rollin, the shop-girl of the
Rue de Rivoli, and Ernest Durand,
the Member of the Council of the
Commune. And even they, for the
moment, had forgotten to think
about the things that were most
serious to them, and had caught
the infection of the general merri-
ment.
"You take me everywhere, Ern-
est, you must show me everything,'
she said.
So the Member of the Council of
The Red Spell.
9
the Commune gave Elise his arm
and showed her all the sights.
They passed through the Salle des
Maréchaux, where Mademoiselle
Agar, the great tragédienne, was
celebrating the revolution in Alex-
andrine verse; they loitered in the
galleries, listening to the quaint
comments of sightseers who had
come all the way from Belleville or
Saint Antoine or Mont-rouge to find
out what an emperor's palace might
be like; they stood for a while in
the great hall, where an orchestra
of a thousand instruments pealed
out the "Marseillaise." Then they
strolled down into the gardens,
where the Venetian lamps hung
upon the orange-trees, and the peo-
ple prattled as they sat or roamed.
about, and the lovers kissed each
other in the arbors, and the music
tried to drown the distant booming
of the cannon at the Porte Maillot.
But the thunder of the guns was
ΤΟ
The Red Spell.
louder than the melodies of Offen-
bach. Elise heard them booming.
out beyond the ramparts, and the
sound hastened the inevitable reac-
tion and made her grave and serious
again.
"Take me out of the crowd,
Ernest," she said, "I want to talk."
He found a vacant arbor where
they could be undisturbed, and they
sat down in it together.
And yet, for a space, neither of
them spoke. It was so good to be
together, enjoying the present with-
out thought of the troubles that
seemed so sure to overtake them
soon-so hard to recognize by any
formal word that love must presently
yield to politics the first place in the
life of every faithful servant of the
Commune. So Elise Rollin nestled
close to her lover, clinging to his
arm with both her little hands, and
looking up, through her brown.
clustering curls into his face.
The Red Spell.
II
It was not a handsome face.
The features were irregular and
rough, and the right cheek carried
a scar, earned on the field of honor
at Bazenville. But the bright grey
eyes were good. Frankness and
enthusiasm were always there, and
now they also shone with love-the
love of a strong man for a woman
whom he must protect. And the
mouth, too, was good, for its lines.
spelt determination. It was the
mouth of a man who would do what
he believed that duty bade him do,
even though love itself should try
to draw him back.
Yet there would be a struggle.
For days he had felt the crucial
moment of that struggle drawing
nearer; and now, at last, it had ar-
rived. For Elise clutched at his
elbow pleadingly, and began to talk
about the Commune.
((
Listen," she said.
"The guns
are nearer now. Always and always
12
The Red Spell.
nearer.
The Commune is being
beaten,
Ernest.
Am I not
right?"
He put his arm round her, and
held her closer to him as he an-
swered,-
"The Commune is not beaten
yet, my sweetheart."
But still she was not reassured.
"Not yet, Ernest, no, not yet,”
she said; "and still I am afraid,
for every day I read the placards
on the walls telling of the great
victories that we have won, and
every day the shells of the Ver-
saillais fall closer and closer to the
heart of Paris. Oh, yes, I am
afraid, Ernest-terribly and terri-
bly afraid."
It was a hard thing for him to bear ;
for he, too, was afraid-for her.
Yet he kissed her tenderly, and said
what words he could to try and
dissipate her fears. The Commune
had been mismanaged. Wrong men
The Red Spell.
13
had been suffered to have influence
in its councils. There had been
traitors. But the presence of dan-
ger had brought the true leaders of
the people to the front. And the
Parisians could fight-none better.
Paris had fought France before and
conquered-in '93, in '48.
But his arguments did not avail
to quell her fears. They could not
while the grim voices of the guns
were sounding in her ears.
Her impulse was to cry, but she
withstood it. Yet a beginning of
tears was in her voice as she said
the thing she had begun to feel, but
hardly dared to say.
"Oh, Ernest, I think that I begin
to hate this Commune."
That, too, was hard for him to
bear, seeing that he was one of the
few men to whom the Commune
represented a great political ideal,
and not a mere scheme, like an-
other, for plundering his neighbors.
14
The Red Spell.
Yet the speech did not shake his
love for her. He understood that
it was only her love for him-her
fear that the Commune should
come between them-that had in-
spired it. He could not be angry
with her for that. None the less,
he protested gently.
"And yet you used to tell me
that you loved the Commune once,
Elise," and went on to remind her
of the time,
"Do you remember," he asked
her, "that afternoon in March when
I took you to see the cannon on
Butte Mont-martre-the cannon we
had dragged up on to the hill, so that
the Prussians might not take them.
It was the day after I had askeď
you to marry me, and you had prom-
ised. We were so happy, both of
us, as we walked in the sunshine,
and I talked to you of all that the
Commune was to do for Paris, and
you listened, and were glad, and full
The Red Spell.
15
of hope. Oh, yes, Elise, you loved
the Commune, then."
There was a smile-a sad smile-
on her lips as she replied :
"Perhaps I thought so, Ernest,
but I know better now. I am quite
sure now that it was you and not
the Commune that I loved."
He pressed one of her little hands
in both of his, and she continued,
whispering in his ear:
"Don't you see, Ernest? Don't
you understand? I'm jealous of
the Commune."
"No, no, my sweetheart. There
is no reason," he answered, quickly.
She went on :
'Ah, but I am jealous, Ernest,
and there is every reason. Once,
for a little while, I think, I was
jealous of you know-that other
woman
He interrupted her with solemn
protestations:
"You were jealous of Suzanne?
16
The Red Spell.
You were jealous of La Capitaine-
a mere acquaintance of the câfés-a
woman whom I would not even
speak of in your presence. But
you know, Elise, that there never
was anything between us, and that
if there ever was anything, it is
over long ago. If it makes you un-
happy to think of her, I will tell you
that I hate her,"
Elise made haste to answer:
"Yes, I know, I know. I am not
jealous of her now. Only I heard
people talk, and she is pretty, and
she sits on barricades, and says
she will fight for the Commune
with the men, and just for a little
while I thought-but I know better
now. It is only the Commune that
makes me jealous now, because the
Commune is going to take your
love away from me."
"Not that, Elise, not that!
There was an earnest passion in
his accents that emboldened her.
The Red Spell.
17
She looked fondly into his clear
grey eyes, and then, in soft, caress-
ing tones, appealed to him.
(6
Ernest, love is worth more than
politics."
He did not speak.
"One cannot have both, Ernest—
not in these days.
One has to
choose, and if one chooses love-"
But still no answer, though he
half guessed what she was about to
say.
"
And, if one chooses love, I say,
before it is too late, why then all
that one has to do is to leave Paris."
It was what he had feared, and,
as they sat there, in the dim ro-
mantic light, with the music vol-
uptuously singing in their ears,
reminding them of all the joys that
had been and might be again for
happy lovers, the impulse was
strong on him to yield-to give up
everything, and take Elise away
with him into the quiet country
18
The Red Spell.
where men lived at peace with one
another. But, even while he felt
the longing, he was ashamed of it.
He could not be a traitor-a coward
-like Rochefort, like Felix Pyat.
"Sweetheart," he answered, gen-
tly, "you must not ask me to do
that. It is impossible."
"Not impossible, Ernest," she
pleaded.
"Yes, sweetheart,
sweetheart,
impossible.
You do not love the Commune?
No. But you would not love me if
I betrayed the Commune-if I be-
trayed any cause that I had sworn
to serve. And even if you did,
I should know that I was not
worthy of your love."
He went on, his eloquence in-
creasing as he spoke of the cause
which he loved as ardently as any
Christian martyr loved his faith of
old.
"No, no, Elise, you must not ask
me to do that. There are some
The Red Spell.
19
things that a man must not do, even
for love. It is a great cause-this
cause of the Commune that we are
fighting for. It is the cause of the
poor-of the workers-in all coun-
tries and for all time. You think
we have done very little for the
workers yet. True; but we have
done something. Already they are
happier, already their lives are
brighter than in the old days when
the bourgeoisie had their way with
them. There is still much to be
done; even the Commune can not
do everything at once. But if the
leaders of the Commune fall away
from it as soon as danger threatens,
then, indeed, nothing will be done.
No, no. One must be brave. One
must not turn one's back on one's
whole life. One must go through
with things, and afterwards——”
The noise of the artillery beyond
the ramparts fell again on Elise
Rollin's ear. She shuddered.
20
The Red Spell.
"But suppose the Commune is
beaten, Ernest," she said. "Then
there will be no afterwards for you
and me. What do you say then?"
It was a hard effort; for he had to
resist himself as well as her. But
he replied:
"I still say, my sweetheart, that
one must be brave."
And then, after a pause :
((
Elise, will you not help me to
be brave?"
For her, too, it was an effort. For
she saw, more clearly than he did,
how hopeless was the cause he fought
for. But she answered, letting her
head droop upon his shoulder:
"Yes, Ernest, I will try to help
you to be brave."
And then they sat silent, holding
one another's hands, until the
thinning of the crowd warned Elise
that it was time that she was taken
home, and Ernest that Delescluze
had given him a midnight appoint-
ment at the Hôtel de Ville.
CHAPTER II.
CABS were still plying for hire in
Paris, although the death agony of
the Commune was so near. So Er-
nest Durand drove with Elise to the
house where she was living in Gre-
noble, on the south of the Seine.
They hardly spoke, as the ram-
shackle carriage jolted them over
the clattering stones. For their
hearts were far too full for small
talk, and the pressing things that
Elise wished to say were said. As-
sured that the Commune had not
taken her lover's love away from
her, she was submissive and docile
as a child, and for the moment very
nearly happy.
"You won't ask me to leave Paris
22
The Red Spell.
any more, Elise?" he said, when
they stood at last upon the door-
step.
"No, Ernest, I won't ask you
that, if duty says that you must
stay."
"And you will help me to be
brave, my sweetheart?"
"Yes, dearest, I will try to help
you to be brave."
not
Then he said what he could to
cheer and to encourage her, repeat-
ing that the Commune was
beaten yet, that, now that they had
closed their ranks and healed their
discord, there was still good hope
that they would drive the Versail-
lais back; and so said good-night,
and drove off to keep his political
appointment.
It was not an appointment of any
consequence-merely an appoint-
ment to discuss matters of no im-
mediate importance. For it was
the prevailing characteristic of the
The Red Spell.
23
Communists that they continued to
discuss matters of no immediate
importance to the last. Even when
the enemy was within their walls a
batch of them were sitting in solemn
conclave to discuss the hours on
which the people should be admitted
to the public picture-galleries and
museums.
So Ernest Durand, who had a
keener eye for the realities than
some of them, wearied of the un-
profitable talk, and excused himself
as soon as he was able.
Besides, his personal life had be-
come rather more real than usual
to him during these last two hours,
and there were things that he
wanted to think out.
In spite of the lateness of the
hour, the câfés were still open; but
he entered none of them, though
friends, every now and again, recog-
nized and called to him.
Only once he was obliged to stop
24
The Red Spell.
as he was crossing the Boulevard
Mont-martre. For, just as he was
passing the Câfé de Madrid, a wo-
man ran out into the road and
spoke to him—that other woman-
the woman of whom Elise had said
that once, for a little while, she had
been jealous.
Truly she was pretty enough to
give cause for jealousy-a very
different sort of person from the
dames des Halles, from whom most
of the Amazons of the Commune
were recruited. Her short blue
skirts were trimmed with red. She
wore untanned boots, and a tiny
blue hat, with red feathers arranged
in it coquettishly. Even the pistol
stuck in her belt had a coquettish
air in it, though it seemed likely
that she would use that pistol read-
ily enough when the occasion came.
To anyone who saw her it was
quite clear how Suzanne Touffroy
had come to be called La Capitaine.
The Red Spell.
25
She called to Ernest Durand as
she saw him pass, but he affected
not to hear.
Then she ran after
him and took him by the arm. He
shook her off almost rudely, say-
ing that he had no time to stay and
talk.
But she detained him; though, in
truth, she had nothing in particular
to say to him-nothing beyond the
old story that she loved him, and
that she too was jealous ;-and he
had to stop and listen, knowing by
experience, what sort of scene she
was capable of making if he refused.
It was nothing to her that they
were standing in the middle of the
boulevard-a place unfit for senti-
mental confidences and recrimina-
tions. Heedless of that, she poured
reproaches volubly into his ear.
She loved him and he did not
return her love. That was the
burden of her grievance; and she
spoke to him as though he had
26
The Red Spell.
actually been her lover and for-
saken her-for this and the woman
whom he was to marry.
"Even now," she said, "you
come back from seeing her. Oh,
yes; I am sure of it."
He was very angry, but he tried
to calm her, saying:
"You are wrong, Suzanne. It is
only business that has brought me.
here the business of the Com-
mune."
The word brought a fresh thought
into her mind.
“Good. Vive la Commune. We
both love the Commune-you and
I. But that gives me an idea.
Does she also love the Commune?
Does she too cry, 'Vive la Com-
mune.' Eh?"
He checked her. There were
things of which he would not suffer
her to speak to him. But she per-
sisted.
Oh, no; she does not love the
The Red Spell.
27
Commune. I know it. She hates
the Commune. When the Com-
mune has to fight she will cry to
you and beg you to pack up your
things and run away."
It was so true; and it seemed so
strange to her that he, who had
toiled for the Commune from the
beginning, should prefer the woman
who was afraid to the woman who
would be proud to stay and fight
with him. Striking that chord, she
tried to play on his emotions. She
told him passionately that he was a
traitor and then, as passionately,
unsaid the words.
"No, no. You won't be a traitor.
I don't think that of you, Ernest.
But you will be tempted as you
would never have been had it been
me that you had loved. You will
be strong, but you will be tempted
all the same. I should not have
tempted you. The Revolution is in
my blood as it is in yours, and what
28
The Red Spell.
I don't fear for myself I should not
have feared for you. We would
have faced everything together
without regret if only you had loved
me. It would have been easy. Oh,
why didn't you love me, Ernest;
why didn't you love me!"
So she poured out her undis-
ciplined emotions passionately and
unavailingly. For Ernest Durand's
thoughts were far away from her in
the little apartment at Grenoble.
He had no wish to stay there and be
reminded of any careless words that
he might have spoken to her in the
past before Elise came into his life.
and-save for the Commune-filled
it. All that he wanted was to
escape from her and think. At last
she let him.
"There, go on your business,"
((
she said. Only kiss me first, so
that I may try to think that you
will love me some day. Else I shall
hate you. Good-night."
The Red Spell.
29
He kissed her. It was a kiss
that Elise would have forbidden,
seeing that it was very cold and
formal, and was only the price that
he had to pay to her to let him go
in peace.
Then she left him and went back
into the Câfé de Madrid, while he
walked rapidly on to his apartment,
trying to shake off the memory of
the meeting, as one shakes off the
memory of an ugly nightmare, that
is forgotten when the breakfast
comes.
His lodging was on the fourth
floor of a house in one of the streets
near by. He rang the bell, and the
concierge, in due course, pulled the
cord that raised the latch.
Entering, he lit his lamp and took
a cigar out of his case, and threw
himself down in an easy chair to
think. For he had much to think
about, since that long talk with
30
The Red Spell.
Elise in the Garden of the Tuile-
ries.
Of deserting the Commune, in-
deed, he could not think even for a
moment. The Commune was his
religion, and all the circumstances
of his stormy life forbade the bare
idea of such a thing. As Suzanne
had said to him, the Revolution was
in his blood-had been the tradi-
tion of his family for generations.
His grandfather had been one of
the men of '93; his father had died
on one of the barricades of '48-a
barricade that he himself, a boy of
ten, had helped to build: he had
learned revolutionism-as other
children learn the Scriptures-at
his mother's knee. The martyrs,
for him, were not the Christian
saints, but those who had endured.
death or durance for championing
the rights of man.
Himself too, in the past, had suf-
fered hardship for the revolutionary
The Red Spell.
3F
cause. Under the Empire, for a
brief space, he had been a journal-
ist and pamphleteer; and his
pamphlets had displeased the
government, and earned him six
months imprisonment at Mayas.
Afterwards to avoid more imprison-
ment, he had had to leave the coun-
try, and for a while had made his
living by teaching French in a small
English private school-a painful
task he still remembered with
abhorrence.
Yet even in this character he had
made more impression than the for-
eign language master usually made.
For a long time they used to tell
stories in that school of the mas-
terly way in which Monsieur Du-
rand had quelled a certain attempt
at mutiny. There was nothing to
tell, except that he had given orders
which were immediately obeyed
by those who had made up their
minds to disobey and already begun
32
The Red Spell.
to riot. But that was a thing that
had not happened in the French
class for many generations, and it
had seemed to the boys to mark
Monsieur Durand out as different
from the general run of Frenchmen,
and they had idolized him in spite
of his political opinions, which he
was never at any pains to hide.
Even when he came by request
one day to their debating society,
and, forgetting the nature of his
audience, orated, as he would have.
liked to orate from the window of
the Hôtel de Ville, lashing the vices
of the bourgeoisie, and denouncing
priests and kings, they did not shout
him down, in spite of the stalwart
Constitutionalism which is innate
in every British boy. Instead, some
of them began to invent romantic
legends to account for his exile
from his native land. It was whis-
pered that he had been the lover of
Empress Eugènie, and that Em-
The Red Spell.
33
peror Napoleon was jealous of him,
and that this was the sentimental
origin of his rancor against the im-
perial régime. His denial of the
legend, when it reached him, was
put down to his credit as a modest
man.
That was the story of his life in
England. It ended with the out-
break of the war with Germany, and
the proclamation of the Republic.
Then he had returned to Paris, and
served through the siege as a pri-
vate in the National Guard. From
that time onward he had been to
the front in every revolutionary
movement; in the first abortive
rising of October, when Monsieur
Jules Ferry was made to eat rats in
the Hôtel de Ville, then in the suc-
cessful revolution of the 18th of
March, when Generals Le Comte
and Clement Thomas were shot, and
Paris ceased to take its orders from
Versailles. The elections that fol-
34
The Red Spell.
lowed had returned him a member
of the Council of the Commune;
and he had grown in influence as a
revolutionary leader ever since.
The memory of all these things
crowded through his brain, and left
no room for any thought of turning
back. Only he was troubled-terri-
bly troubled-about Elise, whose
sad eyes seemed to be gazing at him
reproachfully, through the coiling
wreaths of smoke that rose from
the end of his cigar, and hung heav-
ily in mid-air above the lamp. For,
clearly, his love for her, and his
duty to the Commune called him
different ways; and when the ways
diverged, it was the path of duty
that he would have to follow.
"Have I not done her a wrong?"
he asked himself; and then pro-
ceeded, arguing aloud :
"Not that she will be in any dan-
ger. No, the Commune does no
harm to helpless women; and even
The Red Spell.
35
Thiers' butchers, if they get among
us, will not hurt one so helpless as
Elise." And then :
"Still, was I not wrong to love
her to let her love me-seeing
that I belong not to myself but to
the Commune? Sometimes I fear
so.
Ah! If only I had foreseen- !
But then how was I to foresee that.
the things would happen that should
make it wrong
x?
His mind went back to the days.
when his love for her began-the
days of mingled relief and ignominy,
just after the first siege of Paris.
He remembered his walks and talks
with her on the Boulevards, on the
ramparts, in the park at Belleville,
in the dismantled Bois de Boulogne.
Even then, he recollected, he had
talked politics with her; but poli-
tics had been less exigent and ab-
sorbing then, and she had not been
jealous of them. His eloquence
aroused her sympathy; she felt the
36
The Red Spell.
spell of it, without, except in the
most shadowy fashion, understand-
ing what it meant.
meant. That he should
talk like that seemed to her to prove
that he was good and noble; and
that was all she cared about. So
she used to listen to him admiringly
with open eyes, and he was per-
suaded that she loved the revolu-
tion when in truth, as she had since
so naively told him, she only loved
the revolutionist. For, though she
did not know it, till the times got
troubled, at the bottom of her heart.
she had all the bourgeois' natural
dread of revolution.
Ernest Durand knew this now,
and felt that he might have guessed
it from the beginning. A smile
flickered on his lips faintly as he
thought of it.
Yes, it is strange," he said to
himself, "that I should love a bour-
geoise-I who have been fighting
with the bourgeoisie all my life."
The Red Spell.
37
Yet he did love her, and when he
thought of her he felt-what he
had never fully felt before-that
she had already begun to infect him.
with something of the bourgeois
spirit. For he saw that the bour-
geois life meant the home, with all
its serene and quiet joys; and his
own life had always been so restless.
and so turbulent that the thought
of home appealed to him.
Especially had his life been tur-
bulent of late. So many things had
happened since those days of Feb-
ruary and March, when they had
rambled happily through Paris,
talking, indeed, of many things, but
thinking only of each other. The
revolution had broken out, and the
Commune been proclaimed. For
two months the Commune had ruled
Paris, and tried to regenerate so-
ciety, with one hand, while it was
fighting for its existence with the
other. Then Monsieur Thiers, baf-
38
The Red Spell.
fled at first, had collected an army
and driven the Communists back
upon their defences. Passy and
Auteuil had been shelled to ruins,
barricades had been thrown up, and
the prospects of street fighting been
discussed.
He himself had been in the thick
of it all, working night and day,
with feverish energy, and with vary-
ing moods. For sometimes he
would be consumed with revolution-
ary zeal, and then he would be
angry that he could not see Elise
throwing her soul into the cause as
he did. And then the reaction in
its turn would overtake him, and he
would be tired of it all-terribly
tired—even as he was to-night, and
feel that Elise could give him rest
such as none of the wild women
who fought for the Commune with
their own ferocious ardor would
have ever given him.
"Oh, yes," he murmured; "I am
The Red Spell.
39
tired to-night, and when I am tired
I want to go to Elise and rest, and
forget everything except that I am
with her. But then, how often am I
tired? Seldom, very seldom. One
has no time to be tired-one has no
right to be tired-in these days. If
only we can win, if only we can beat
back these Versaillais, then I will
rest always, Elise with me, and ask
for nothing else. But now I do not
dare to think of that. I have to go
on, and love must wait till after-
wards."
So the red spell held him, and he
sat down at his desk and busied
himself with his books and papers,
resolved to give the Commune its
due share of his time before he went
to bed. But the sad eyes still
haunted him while he tried to work,
and he could not rid himself of the
thought that it was for his sake, and
because he could do what he be-
40
The Red Spell.
lieved to be his duty, that they
were full of tears.
(6
My poor Elise. I am so sorry
for you, my poor Elise."
Those were his last words before
he fell asleep.
CHAPTER III.
TRULY the things to be done
were many, and the time for senti-
ment was short. So during the last
days of the Commune, as on the
night of his parting from Elise,
Ernest Durand continued to work
hard. He was a very glutton for
hard work-one of the few Com-
munists, and they were very few,
who would rather work than talk
and drink absinthe.
He was not, and he did not pre-
tend to be, a soldier. Throughout
the days when Monsieur Bergeret,
bookseller's assistant, signed him-
self General Bergeret, and all sorts
of shopkeepers and clerks and arti-
sans were called Captain and Major,
and even Colonel, Ernest Durand
42
The Red Spell.
never put on a uniform. Like Citi-
zen Delescluze, delegate at war,
who was his hero among the Com-
munists, he always dressed as a
civilian, in a sober suit of black,
with the red scarf of the Commune
knotted over it on ceremonial occa-
sions.
But he was busy none the less.
He had a commission-the sort of
commission that went begging be-
cause the talkers did not care about
it-to consider what measures could
be taken by the Commune to im-
prove the condition of the laboring
classes. It was the work he loved,
because it promised to be useful
work; and because it was the hope
it held out to the laboring classes
that made the Commune glorious in
his eyes.
He toiled at it with a
patience that the talkers sometimes
smiled at when they sat in the
câfés swaggering and sipping their
absinthe. Sure of duty, he brushed
The Red Spell.
43
his personal anxieties rudely on one
side to make room for it; and while
the cannon were thundering at the
city gates and the aides-de-camp
were galloping through the streets
carrying their dispatches to the
Hôtel de Ville, Ernest Durand was
sitting alone in the silence of his
bureau, struggling to forget his
troubles for Elise, while he thridded
his way resolutely through complex
and mysterious statistics.
From time to time he had to deal
with interruptions. It was hard for
him not to be drawn into the vortex
of the general talk, when, day after
day, the talkers came to him
to consult him about their duties,
instead of leaving him to do his
own. Ought not So-and-So to be
arrested? they would ask him. And
did he not think it would be well if
such and such a journal were sup-
pressed? Had he seen this or that
proclamation, and what did he think
44
The Red Spell.
of it? Should not a barricade be
built here instead of there? How-
ever hurriedly he might send them
away they wasted precious time.
There were also the interruptions
of his private life; for no man can
get rid altogether of his private life
because he is a figure in a public
crisis.
So Suzanne Touffroy, for example,
came more than once, to interrupt
him, dodging his concierge who
would have told her that Monsieur
Durand was busy and could receive
no visitors. It seemed to her that,
as the day of battle neared, his
heart would be softened towards
her who was prepared to fight so
bravely—and so picturesquely—for
his cause.
Professedly, indeed, she came to
ask for information. But the an-
swer always was that there was no
information for her beyond the
property of all the world. Then she
•
The Red Spell.
45
would stay as long as he would let
her, asking questions.
"There will be street fighting
presently?" she would ask him.
((
Perhaps. One does not build
barricades merely that you may sit
upon them."
"And soon?"
This, with passionate impatience
in her tone and in her eyes, as
though she were in a hurry for the
battle to begin.
"It may be soon, it may be late.
I cannot tell you.
"And you? When there is fight-
ing, you will not stay shut up in
your bureau? You also will come
down into the streets and fight?"
"Yes, I also shall fight when I
am wanted."
"Where then?"
"Where I am ordered."
"And where is that?
“I don't know. Why do you ask
me?"
46
The Red Spell.
"Why do I ask? Because I want
to fight with you-on the same bar-
ricade. You won't refuse to let me
fight with you?"
Thus she would talk, and some-
times add reproaches-the old re-
proaches that he was used to hear
from her. She would remind him
he had been kind to her once, in
the days when she was poor, and
needed kindness would recall
careless words that he had spoken
in the days when Elise had not yet
come into his life, and he had some-
times related his leisure in the
Câfés of the Latin Quarter. She
would even invent promises that
he had never given and complain
because he had not kept them.
And, always when she had to leave
him, her last words would be:
"Ah! well. You will have to
love me when I come to fight with
you-on the same barricade."
That, then, was one of his inter-
The Red Spell.
47
ruptions.
The others were when
he left his work of his own accord
to cross the Seine to Grenoble, and
see Elise.
He told her nothing of his meet-
ings with Suzanne. There was no
need seeing that she did not ques-
tion him. And even if Elise won-
dered, now and then, she trusted.
him, and kept her wonder to her-
self.
Yet this too was a painful inter-
ruption. For events were moving
quickly, and they both knew very
well that any meeting might easily
happen to be their last. So that,
often as Ernest Durand came, he
could not come as often as Elise
wished to see him; and though she
tried to hide them, the tears were
often in her eyes.
"You hardly come to see me
now," she would plead, after she
had kissed him.
"But you know the reason,
48
The Red Spell.
sweetheart," he would answer.
"It
is not that I do not wish to. You
know that."
There was conviction in his tones,
and she believed him.
"I know, Ernest. Of course you
must be always busy."
Always, Elise, or
else, you
know, I would be always with you.
And I am the busier because the
time is short. It seems that the
work of the Commune never ends."
The work of the
the Commune !
How she hated it! And how she
longed to tear him
teach him to care as
from it, and
little for it as
she cared herself! What would the
Commune, even if it conquered, do
for either of them that he should
risk his life for it? And what was
a principle-what was an ideal-that
lovers should put their love by to
consider it?
Those were her thoughts; but
she knew better than to express
The Red Spell.
49
them now.
For she had promised.
to help him to be brave and she
must keep her promise. And she
kept it till the time came when he
had to confess to her that the dan-
ger was at hand.
"Sweetheart, there is something
that I have to tell you. It is cer-
tain now that there will be fighting
in the streets of Paris presently."
She nodded.
"One does not know how soon.
Perhaps in a very few days' time.
In any case there will be street
fighting-hard and fierce fighting-
before we know whether the Com-
mune is to stand or fall. There may
be danger, even for those who do
not fight. You may be frightened."
Frightened? Of course she was
frightened-frightened for him;
and told him so. But his fears were
for her.
"You must not think of me,
Elise. Think of yourself. Had I
50
The Red Spell.
not better get you a laisser passer,
so that you can go away into the
country?"
"Go into the country, Ernest?
And what shall I do in the country,
while you are here in Paris, and in
danger? No, I hate your Com-
mune as I have told you; but while
you stay in Paris, I shall stay here
too."
It was the answer he had expected,
knowing how she loved him. Yet
he had thought that when he rea-
soned she would listen; and hardly
knew whether to be pleased or
troubled when he found that she
would not.
He laid his hand on hers affec-
tionately. "You are quite deter-
mined, my little girl?" he asked
again.
"Yes, Ernest, I am quite deter-
mined."
"Then you are brave, my little
one-braver than I thought."
The Red Spell.
51
She smiled up at him gratefully—
so pleased to hear him say that she
was brave. She had thought that
to be brave one must strut about,
carrying a pistol, and sit on barri-
cades.
"But if you stay in Paris," he
continued, "you must promise me
that you will do exactly what I tell
you. Then there may not be any
danger for you after all. You
promise?"
"I promise, Ernest. What is it
that I am to do?"
""
Something very simple. Only
to lock yourself into your room, and
stay there till the fighting is all
over."
She protested: "But to stay in-
doors when you are fighting, when
you are in danger."
66
Yes, Elise. It will be harder
for me to fight if I do not know
that you are safe. That is how you
must help me to be brave."
52
The Red Spell.
He went on to warn her:
"You know, sweetheart, that you
cannot be safe if you go out into
the streets. When men are fight-
ing they do not always draw fine.
distinctions. A random bullet-an
angry soldier—even an excited
Communist-you understand. But
indoors you will be safe-except for
shells. And if shells fall, then you
must go down into the cellar, as we
used to in the siege, and still you
will be safe. You promise to obey
me?"
She promised to do as she was
told; and then she asked for news,
hoping that, in his fears for her he
had exaggerated, and that there was
a chance that there might be no
street-fighting after all.
His answer was not reassuring.
He told her, with candor, every-
thing he knew.
The attack, he said, was vigorous,
and the defence seemed to have
The Red Spell.
53
lost its energy.
Forts and out-
posts had been abandoned, and the
attempt to recover them had failed.
Dombrowski was in command.
The Commune had no better and
no braver soldier. But what could
Dombrowski do when there was dis-
cord at the Hôtel de Ville, and he
was unsupported-when he could
not get the reinforcements that
he asked for, and the ramparts in
places were almost undefended?'
"Then the end is in a few days,
Ernest?"
The sooner, the better, it seemed
to her; and the weaker the Com-
munist defence, the more chance
that the Communists might make
terms for themselves and save their
lives.
A faint suggestion of the thought
was in her tones and it roused Ern-
est Durand to vehement reply. For
the moment, the lover seemed to be
54
The Red Spell.
lost in the rhetorician and the
revolutionist.
"The fighting is in a few days,
Elise, but not the end. The Ver-
saillais will enter Paris; there is
no doubt of that. I say it to you,
though I must not say it to all the
world. But to conquer? That is
another matter altogether. It is
one thing to fight the Versaillais in
the open country, where numbers
give them the advantage; it is quite
another thing to fight them in Paris,
at the barricades. At present we
are divided against ourselves. The
invasion of our streets will heal our
discords; and when our discords
are healed, we shall be victorious.
Above all, with Delescluze to lead
us, it is impossible that we shall
not be victorious."
But Elise Rollin cared very little
which way the victory went so that
Ernest Durand came out of the
The Red Spell.
55
battle safely. She twined her arms
round his neck, and said to him :
"But, yourself, Ernest. You are
not a soldier. Must you also fight?"
It was her final effort to keep
him to herself; and he could not but
be pleased at her insistence, and
looked long and lovingly into her
eyes before he answered:
"I am not a soldier, Elise," he
answered, "but I shall fight then.
One does not need to be a soldier
to fight at barricades."
And then he folded his arms
round her, and held her to his heart
for many minutes before he could
bring himself to say good-bye, and
go back to his bureau, and consult
with Delescluze about Père Gail-
lard's scheme of barricades.
CHAPTER IV.
ERNEST DURAND had spoken
truly. The end was very near, and
every one who knew anything at all
knew that it was coming. Yet it
actually came at a moment when no
one was expecting it.
On the afternoon of Sunday,
May 21st, there was a second great
fête given in the Garden of the
Tuileries. In all essentials it was
just such another fête as the one
held there the week before. The
shells fell a little nearer this time,
some of them reaching as far as the
Place de la Concorde, and the
gaiety to close observers may have
seemed a little forced. Still, there
was music, and there were pretty
women prettily dressed in their
The Red Spell.
57
fresh spring costumes, so that at
least the outward show of anima-
tion and merriment was there,
Elise was at the fête, and she
came home in better spirits than
were usual with her just then. A
staff officer of the National Guard
had climbed upon the platform and
made a speech which almost reas-
sured her.
"Citizens," he said, "Monsieur
Thiers promised to enter Paris yes-
terday. Monsieur Thiers has not
entered; he will not enter. I invite
you to come here next Sunday to
attend yet another concert for the
benefit of the widows and orphans.'
And the people cheered, because
speeches of that sort always sound
plausible when the band is playing.
That was in the afternoon. On
the evening of the same day there
was a special sitting of the Council
of the Commune to try General
Cluseret for treason. Citizen Ver-
58
The Red Spell.
morel was speaking. Of a sudden,
Citizen Billioray entered, pale and
breathless, from the adjoining cham-
ber, where the Committee of Public
Safety watched.
With excited gestures, he cut
their deliberations short.
"Enough of this," he cried. "I
have something more important to
tell to the Assembly."
Citizen Vermorel stopped.
"Let Citizen Billioray speak," he
said.
Then Citizen Billioray stood up
and read aloud the paper that trem-
bled in his hand.
"Dombrowski to War and Com-
mittee of Public Safety. The Ver-
saillais have entered by the Saint
Cloud Gate. I am taking measures
to drive them back. If you can
send me reinforcements, I answer
for everything.""
Then there fell a silence, soon
broken by quick and eager ques-
The Red Spell.
59
tions which Citizen Billioray could
not answer, and the Council finished
off its business, acquitting General
Cluseret with all abruptness, and
even appointing him to a command,
while the members scattered to
seek information for themselves.
That was the hour when the win-
nowing of the Communists began-
the separation of the brave men
from the cowards. For the cowards
went straight to their homes, or to
hiding places where they might
stay safely till the outcome of the
conflict should be clear. The
brave men prepared themselves to
fight.
Paris, as a whole, knew noth-
ing as yet, and learnt nothing till
the next morning of this invasion
of its streets. The tocsin had not
sounded; the noise of cannon was
too familiar to keep any one awake.
So Paris slept as usual, while an
army of ninety thousand men poured
60
The Red Spell.
through the breach and established
themselves within the walls.
The hour when civilians should
be called out to fight was close at
hand, but it had not sounded yet.
For the moment, the resistance
was still in the hands of the sol-
diers, who only resisted feebly. All
through the night the troops of the
line had pushed on, steadily driving
the Communists before them, until
at dawn the Trocadero had been
seized and Muette occupied, and the
tri-color was flying on the Arc de
Triomphe.
It was the hour for action; and
Ernest Durand knew there was no
doubt, no hesitation now,
No per-
sonal hope or fear could stay his
hand or clog his energy any longer.
The Commune claimed him, and the
red spell drew him to the fight.
But not at once. He spent the
night in his bureau arranging and
sealing his papers. There were
The Red Spell.
61
By
many of them, and the task was
long and tiresome. Still, it was
necessary they should be secured, if
it were possible, against destruction.
So he mastered his excitement, and
sat down resolutely to work.
four o'clock in the morning he had
finished it. Thoroughly wearied
out, he crawled into his bed and
slept for a brief space. Then, wak-
ing some time after daybreak, he
hastened to the Hôtel de Ville, to
place himself at the service of the
Delegate at War.
"Paris must be saved, and only
Delescluze can save it."
So he said to himself, and hurried to
seek Delescluze with all his speed.
There was no time now to think
of Elise or of Suzanne-no time to
be tired-no time for anything but
to help to save the Commune. His
blood warmed, and his pulse quick-
ened, as he saw the signs of the ap-
proaching conflict in the streets.
62
The Red Spell.
For at last the Parisians were
waking up to the awful crisis that
they had to face. The shops and
câfés were all closed. At the win-
dows of the houses busy hands were
heaping up mattresses to serve as a
screen against the bullets. Every-
one stayed indoors except those
who meant to fight. Groups of
National Guards sat, with their
muskets piled, at enormous barri-
cades, drinking and playing picquet
to kill the time. A troop of women
-harridans of Belleville-with Phry-
gian caps upon their heads, and
their hair blown loose about their
faces, tore furiously up the boule-
vard harnessed to a mitrailleuse,
the spectators cheering them madly
as they went. A little further on a
fresh barricade was being built. A
mingled multitude of women and
children were tearing up the paving
stones and running to and fro with
The Red Spell.
63
them. One of the group called to
Ernest Durand to help them.
Stop, Citizen. You must wait
and help us build this barricade."
He told them who he was, and
whither he was bound. But the
days of discipline were over. They
answered that behind the barricades
all men were equal, and he was
forced to wait and work with them
for a quarter of an hour before they
would let him go on his way to the
Hôtel de Ville.
An evil omen that: but there
were worse to follow. For at the
Hôtel de Ville also he found disci-
pline dead, and everything in su-
preme disorder. The square in
front of the great building was like
an armed camp, defended by ar-
tillery and fortified with barricades.
But it was an armed camp which to
all appearance no general directed
or controlled. The men sat, or
stood, or lay about the ground in
64
The Red Spell.
groups-most of them drinking, and
many of them drunk. Some of
them laughed and swore, and
cracked unseemly jests. Others of
more serious habit, discussed the
situation, vowed that they had been
betrayed, and shouted advice to
their superior officers. Workmen
too, in their blue blouses, and the
wild women who fought with them,
came and went freely in the crowd,
clamoring for guns, for cartridges,
for rations, and telling with ex-
cited gestures how the battle was
going in the parts that they had
come from.
Inside the building the confusion
was even more complete. Every
staircase, every passage, every
courtyard, was packed with noisy,
and for the most part wholly useless
persons. They ate and drank, they
even danced and sang. Sentries
slept through the noise on their
litters of straw, and no one waked
The Red Spell.
65
them. Women stood in the way
gossiping, and no one took it upon
himself to turn them out.
Where then, was Delescluze?
And what he was doing that Paris
had no army but this motley,
drunken mob? Ernest pushed his
way impatiently through the throng
to look for him. A soldier pointed
to a room higher up the passage,
opposite to that occupied by the
Members of the Committee of Public
Safety. The door was open and he
entered.
The old revolutionist-his age
was sixty, and his hair and beard
were white-was there, seated at
his desk, surrounded by a great ar-
ray of papers, and writing with
feverish haste. His cheeks were
thin and pale, his eyes were hollow,
and his hands shook a little. On
Delescluze there had fallen at the
last the whole task of organizing
the resistance of the Commune.
66
The Red Spell.
He had not organized it-so much
was evident. Yet for two days and
two nights he had not slept, but had
stayed there in his bureau receiving
information and despatching mes-
sages, issuing directions, struggling,
according to his lights, to evolve
order out of chaos.
Seeing Ernest Durand he rose
from his chair and shook him by
the hand. His hand was trembling
—it was yet another evil augury.
"You bring me information, Cit-
izen Durand?" he asked.
"I bring no information, Citizen
Delescluze. I come to ask for
orders. Where and how can I best
serve the Commune?"
The answer was unexpected. For
he was not to fight-not yet.
"Presently perhaps at the barri-
cades; for the moment, you can
serve the Commune best by helping
me."
"I am at your orders, Citizen
The Red Spell.
67
Delescluze. How, then, can I help
you?"
"I am tired. I have had no
sleep; my brain works
works slowly.
Help me to write out this proclam-
ation."
Ernest Durand shrugged his
shoulders. This was not the sort
of energy that he had looked for
from Delescluze, and there was a
touch of contempt in his reply.
"A proclamation? Is this a time
for proclamations, when the battle.
is beginning in the streets?"
A strange light flashed in the old
man's eye-a light fired by the
memory of many revolutions. He
laid his hand upon the young man's
shoulder as he answered:
"Citizen Durand, if you were an
old man as I am, and if you knew
the Parisians as I know them, you
would also know that in Paris it is
always the time for proclama-
tions."
68
The Red Spell.
Ernest Durand listened, but was
not convinced. He glanced scorn-
fully at the writing on the paper
which Delescluze had given him.
"And what will you decree?”
he asked. "Here I see you are
decreeing heroism.”
And Delescluze replied:
"Yes, my friend, I am decreeing
heroism. Do not fear that there
will be the less heroism in Paris
because heroism has been decreed."
Ernest Durand sat down at the
desk, holding the half-written proc-
lamation in his hand; and then
seeing how the other's nerves were
shaken by his excitement, and his
want of sleep:
"I repeat I am at your orders,
Citizen Delescluze," he said. "But
you—you are tired. Will you not
rest a little while I help you?
Again the feverish light gleamed
in the old man's sunken eyes, as he
replied:
The Red Spell.
69
(6
'No, no, Durand. I ask you to
help me, but I cannot rest—not
yet." And added in the accents of
a man inspired: "What said Saint
Just! There is no rest for the
revolutionist but the grave."
Į
So Ernest Durand yielded and
sat down as he was bidden with
Citizen Delescluze, and helped him
in the task of saving the Commune
by inspiriting proclamations and de-
crees.
They wrote them with glowing
eloquence, and in bewildering num-
bers. There were proclamations
calling for barricades, and proc-
lamations authorizing requisitions.
One proclamation said that there
had been enough of the soldiers,
with their gold lace and tassels-let
them make room for the workman
with his bare arms; a second called
upon the women to come out and
fight by the side of their husbands
and their brothers; a third declared
70
The Red Spell.
that Paris with her barricades could
not be taken. There was a special
proclamation to tell the soldiers of
Versailles that their orders were
imfamous and their disobedence
was a duty. There was even a
special proclamation calling upon
all good Freemasons to rally round
the Commune.
And even as they wrote, the news
kept coming to them from one
quarter and another that the street
fighting was going against the
Commune. At two o'clock in the
afternoon, General Dombrowski
himself arrived, wounded, to report
disaster, and then rode off on his
black horse to endeavor to re-
trieve it. Other messengers came,
telling of ground lost elsewhere.
The Porte de la Muette and the
Porte Dauphine had been surren-
dered; the Versaillais were shelling
the Tuileries from the Arc de
Triomphe, and fighting their way
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71
steadily up the Boulevard Hauss-
mann.
Still Citizen Delescluze sat up in
his bureau and defied the enemy
with his proclamations and decrees,
increasing the ferocity of his de-
crees at the tidings of each fresh
reverse, until at the end there was
drafted a decree about which Cit-
izen Delescluze and Citizen Durand
fell out.
It was a very famous decree-the
most famous of them all-and the
exact words of it were these:
"Citizen Millière, at the head of
150 fusebearers, is to set fire to all
houses of suspicious aspect, as well
as to the public monuments on the
left bank of the Seine.
"Citizen Dereure, with 100 fuse-
bearers, is to act in the 1st and 2nd
Arrondissements.
"Citizen Billioray, with 200 men,
is to take charge of the 9th, 10th,
and 20th Arrondissements.
72
The Red Spell.
"Citizen Vesinier, with fifty men,
is specially charged with the boule-
vards from the Madeleine to the
Bastille.
"The citizens must concert with
commanders of barricades to ensure
the execution of these orders."
Ernest Durand read the order
through from the first word to the
last, and then tossed it angrily on
the floor.
"I have nothing to do with that
decree, Citizen Delescluze," he said.
"And why not, Citizen Durand?”
the old man demanded, hotly.
"Because it is an infamy, Citizen
Delescluze."
There followed the inevitable
retort.
"An infamy! You call it an in-
famy? You speak the language of
the bourgeoisie, my friend."
"Is infamy then only for the
bourgeoisie? And do you hold that
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73
nothing can
can be infamous that a
revolutionist may do?"
The old man answered slowly,
and with more deliberation than
was his habit.
"I hold this, Citizen Durand,
that if the social revolution is to
perish, it shall perish upon a worthy
funeral pyre."
The rejoinder was as deliberate
and as firm.
"And I hold, Citizen Delescluze,
that the social revolution needs no
funeral pyre, because the social
revolution is imperishable."
He did not pause, but swept on,
carried by the fierce tide of his own
impetuous rhetoric, as though it
were not a single man but a great
multitude that he was haranguing.
"Crush the social revolution to-
day and it shall rise again to-
morrow, stronger and more glorious.
If we ourselves are not to reap the
fruits of it, that is because they are
74
The Red Spell.
reserved to be the heritage of our
children and our children's children.
Its triumph may be delayed-has
been too long delayed-but in the
end its triumph is assured. The
social revolution can perish only if
it is disgraced. And you, Citizen
Delescluze, you would disgrace the
social revolution."
Delescluze interrupted, not to
argue, but to tell him to have done.
Still he went on.
"You, to whom we all looked to
save Paris, you would
Therefore, I leave you.
longer any place for me.
destroy it.
This is no
I do not
choose to dishonor the Commune.
I prefer to die for it.”
It seemed for the instant as
though the old man would have
struck him in his wrath. And yet,
for all the plans of outrage and de-
struction that were maturing in his
brain, he could not keep himself
from respecting the sincerity of the
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75
other's indignation.
Not that it
made him waver in his resolution.
The fever burnt too fiercely in his
veins for that. The idea of burning
Paris held him like a madman's
mania; but he calmed himself, and
when he answered it was without
anger in his tone.
"Go then, Citizen Durand," he
said. "You are a brave man. If
there were more men like you in
Paris, perhaps there would have
been no need for this decree."
Then, after a pause :
"Shake hands with me, Citizen
Durand. Presently, if the need is,
you shall see that I, who, as you
say, disgrace the Commune, know
also how to die for it."
They shook hands without more
words and parted, and Ernest Du-
rand made haste down the staircase
into the square, and went to join
the battle in the streets.
CHAPTER V.
THE fighting was already hard
and furious in Paris, though not so
hard and furious as it was to be
before the end; and while Ernest
Durand went out from the Hôtel de
Ville to join it, Elise Rollin sat up
in her garret at Grenoble, and
trembled for him and for herself-
trembled especially for fear that his
love for her might not endure in
this tremendous stir of human pas-
sion.
For she saw some of the fighting
with her own eyes-saw how the
lust of battle could lay hold of men ;
and she could understand how love
might take wings and fly away,
while this revolutionary frenzy
shook their souls.
The Red Spell.
77
She had not even to leave her
room to see the frenzy of the
struggle.
In her own street, not twenty
yards from the house in which she
lived, there was a barricade hastily
thrown up on the morning when
the news of the entrance of the
Versaillais came. The very sight
of it aroused her terror. But there
was a moment when curiosity pre-
vailed, and in spite of her lover's
warning, she tripped down to look
at it.
Then a fresh thing happened to
terrify her. Some of the wild wo-
men of the quarter, noting that her
dress was neater and better than
their own, addressed her, saying:
"No idlers here! Lend us a
hand, Citoyenne, in carrying the
paving stones."
She did not dare to disobey, but
for awhile did as she was told in
fear and trembling. Then one of
78
The Red Spell.
the women, more truculent than
the others, thrust a gun into her
hand and told her she must stay
and fight. But this time a man in-
terfered a strong man, who had
pity for weak women; there were
some such among the Communists,
though they were not many.
"The conscription is only for the
men," he said. "If women fight for
the Commune they fight as volun-
teers."
Then to Elise he added in an un-
dertone:
"Run, little one, and hide your-
self away. There is no time to
lose."
And Elise ran for her life, and
scurried up five flights of stairs to
her apartment, and locked the door
behind her.
For a little while she was too
scared to do anything but cry.
Then curiosity came gradually back,
and was stimulated by new noises
The Red Spell.
79
in the streets. She crept stealthily
to the window, and drawing the
curtain round her, with the vague
idea that there would be danger for
her if she were seen, peeped out
timidly from behind the blind.
Already the fighting had begun.
She had only a broken and imper-
fect view of it; for all that she
could see was the defence, while the
soldiers who attacked were out of
sight. But what she saw was this:
A couple of mitrailleuses and a
mingled mass of men and women
defended the barricade. Some of
the men were in uniform; more of
them wore the ordinary blue blouse
of the Parisian workman; one-the
leader apparently-had the ordinary
morning dress of a Parisian gentle-
man, with the red scarf that signi-
fied official rank wound round it.
The mitrailleuses shrieked, the mus-
kets rattled, the smoke darkened
the air and made everything indis-
80
The Red Spell.
tinct. But through the dimness.
Elise could still see the fighters
load and fire, and reload and fire
again; and above the roar of the
guns she could hear the angry
shouts, first of defiance and then of
pain, as shot after shot from the
unseen enemy struck home.
For a space of three-quarters of
an hour she saw the battle stub-
bornly contested. At one moment
it would seem that the Communists
were on the point of flight. Then
the sudden reinforcement of some
half dozen fresh combatants would
put new heart into them, and they
would fight with more ferocity than
One man, more daring than
the others, leapt on to the top of
barricade, and waved a red flag de-
fiantly. A bullet struck him and
he fell. One of the wild women,
screaming wild blasphemies, scram-
bled up to take his place; one of
the men seized hold of the skirt of
ever.
The Red Spell.
81
her dress and dragged her down
again. And all this time Elise.
could see nothing of the Versaillais,
and only knew that they were near
because she heard their firing, and
saw that the defenders of the barri-
cade were being killed and wounded.
Then suddenly, as she looked and
listened, she heard loud cheers, and
cries of "Vive la Republique" an-
swering the cries of "Vive la Com-
mune," and saw the soldiers of the
Commune break and run in all di-
rections, shouting the inevitable
<< nous sommes trahis.” She saw
what had happened. The barricade
had been turned by means of some
of the by-streets, and the Commu-
nists found themselves assailed
upon two sides at once. Panic
seized them and they scattered.
The more desperate of them fell
upon the men of the line regiments
and fought them hand to hand.
The rest ran for refuge into the
82
The Red Spell.
houses whose doors had been left
open by their orders.
There was a strange fascination
in the spectacle. Her old shudder-
ings at the sight of bloodshed
seemed to have left her, and she
looked down, like one entranced,
watching the uneven battle, the
pitiless butchery in the doorways.
Then a fresh dread came upon her.
Suppose the fighting did not finish
at the doorway. Suppose flight and
pursuit and bloodshed went on up
the staircase from one landing to
the next. Suppose-she ran across
to her own door, and tried it ner-
vously to make sure that she had
locked it fast, and then threw her-
self upon the bed, and hid her head
in the pillow, sobbing in hysterical
dismay.
She lay thus for a few minutes,
and, as nothing happened, compos-
ure began slowly to return
her.
to
The Red Spell.
83
Then she heard footsteps-heavy
and deliberate footsteps-on the
stairs. Gradually they came nearer,
and presently a boot kicked at her
door, and a rough voice cried :
"Open! Open at once in the
name of the law, or we break down
the door."
Still shaking with terror, she
made haste to do as she was bid,
and a sergeant and two soldiers of
the Versailles army entered. See-
ing them, she was still more fright-
ened. For what reason could they
have come, she asked herself, unless
it were to kill her?
But they had only come to search
for Communists who might be tak-
ing refuge there. No rigorous quest
was needed to assure them that
there was none. The girl's manner
was evidence enough of that. So
they barely made a pretence of
searching the room, and the ser-
geant smiled a little at her terror.
84
The Red Spell.
"There is nothing to be afraid of
now, little one," he said, genially.
"We have cleared out this 'canaille.'
They won't come back to frighten
you any more."
And so saying he went out, re-
membering even to shut the door
after him, and marched his men
down the stairs again.
That was all the fighting that
Elise actually saw. From begin-
ning to end it could not have lasted
longer than an hour. Afterwards
she knew only what she heard.
Yet she heard a good deal. The
sergeant-his name, he told her,
was Sergeant Boisjoly-was left
with a file of men to keep order in
the Rue de Nice after it was
cleared, and Sergeant Boisjoly,
though a disciplinarian, was not
morose, and was pleased enough to
gossip with her when his duties let
him.
So Elise got many scraps of news
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85
from time to time. She heard of
the battle at the Church of the
Trinity, where the Communists had
shut themselves up as in a fortress,
and artillery had to be fetched to
batter down the door. She heard
of the fierce resistance at the Tuil-
eries and the Place de la Concorde,
and the bloodshed in the Mad-
eleine, and the unexpected capture,
almost without resistance, of the
Butte Mont-martre.
And all the news she got was.
news that frightened her. For the
struggle, Sergeant Boisjoly told her,
was getting more stubborn as the
hours went on. The outcasts of
the Faubourg Saint Antoine had
scented battle, and were aroused.
All day long they had been stream-
ing down in companies two hundred
strong, with bands playing and the
red flag flying, to take their orders
from the Hôtel de Ville.
would fight, these men, the sergeant
They
86
The Red Spell.
said. No chance that they would
surrender as the National Guard
surrendered at La Muette. A pity
Trochu, with that precious plan of
his, hadn't marched them out to
fight the Prussians. But there-
that was Trochu's business, and not
his. His business was to obey
orders, not to stand about talking
politics.
Thus Elise got on the best of
terms with the brave sergeant from
the other camp. But all the things
he told her were of little account if
he could not tell her the one thing
that she wanted to know. At last
she felt that she could trust him
and, summoning her courage, asked
him timidly: Had he any news-
did he know by chance what had
happened to a Monsieur Ernest
Durand, Member of the Council of
the Commune.
"I know nothing of him, little
one," he answered carelessly; but
The Red Spell.
87
when she repeated the question,
his curiosity was wakened.
"I think you have a special inter-
est in this Monsieur Durand?
"A very special interest," she
answered shyly, and he understood.
Ah, then, you are a Communist.
You also are a Communist.”
(6
"One need not be a Communist,
monsieur," she said, "to want news
of one's lover when he is in danger."
Communist or Republican, there
clearly was no need to take her
political opinions seriously. So
Sergeant Boisjoly answered kindly :
"But I have heard nothing-not
even a rumor. If I hear anything
presently, be sure that I will tell
you."
He kept his word, and even went
out of his way to try and find the
news she wanted. But there was no
news to be gathered-only vague
and contradictory reports. Some
said that Ernest Durand was dead;
88
The Red Spell.
others that he had been taken
prisoner, and marched off to Ver-
sailles. Others, again, professed to
have seen him fighting on the left
bank with Wroblewski. It was
quite clear that no one knew really
anything at all. So Sergeant Bois-
joly kept the conflicting stories to
himself, and merely said :
"You must have patience, little
Communist, and wait. And if any
one comes to you with rumors, you
must not believe them, for rumors
are more often false than true.
They said that Delescluze was dead,
and Delescluze still writes his
proclamations at the Hôtel de Ville.
When I know anything for certain I
will come and tell you, but mean-
while you must be patient."
"But it is hard to be patient,
monsieur," she answered, "when
one's lover is in danger. Are you
quite sure you have heard noth-
ing?"
The Red Spell.
89
"Nothing, little Communist, or I
would have told you. Be patient,
then, and remember what I say—
that if you hear rumors, you must
not believe them."
CHAPTER VI.
SHE said the sergeant's words.
over to herself:
"Remember what I say that if
you hear rumors you must not be-
lieve them."
This meant that there were ru-
mors-rumors that Sergeant Bois-
joly would not repeat to her. But
Sergeant Boisjoly was kind, and if
they had been good rumors he
would have told her of them. Then,
since he had them, they must be
bad rumors. It was rumored, per-
haps, that Ernest Durand was dead.
The sergeant said that she must
disbelieve the rumors. How could
she disbelieve them if she did not
know what they were? She must
find out for herself, and not be sat-
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91
isfied with getting news at second
hand; she must go down into the
street, and into the câfés, and find
out what she could.
Putting on her hat and jacket she
went out, and walked into the shop
of a marchand de vin and listened to
the talk there. The place was full
of soldiers, with a sprinkling of
sympathizers, who showed their
sympathy by insisting on paying
for what the soldiers drank, and all
the talk was of the battle in the
street.
They tell me Assy is a prisoner,”
said one man. "In the dark he rode
into the midst of our men in the
Rue Beethoven, and they had taken
him before he knew what was hap-
pening."
"And Dombrowski is dead," ex-
claimed another. "He was killed
on a barricade in the Rue Myrrha."
"And Millière is dead, also,"
cried a third.
92
The Red Spell.
"Is that Millière the journalist ?"
"The same.
He who wrote the
articles about Jules Favre. General
Cissey took him on the south
bank and shot him with his own
hand."
And others contradicted the story
told with so much circumstance,
saying that the man whom Cissey
had shot was not Millière but some
other Communist, and others again
told other stories of the fight-some
true, some false; but Ernest Du-
rand's name was not heard at all.
Elise got bolder when she found
that no one noticed her in all this
babble and confusion, and, pres-
sently, she asked one of the soldiers
who seemed to her to look less fero-
cious than the others, if he knew
anything.
"Nothing, mademoiselle," he an-
swered. 'But we will soon see if
there is any news."
He banged his glass upon the ta-
The Red Spell.
93
ble to demand attention, as he
shouted:
Say, then, you others. Is Du-
rand dead also? Does anyone know
what has happened to Durand?"
66
Durand," asked one of them.
"Who is he then, this Durand?
And who is it that asks for news of
him?"
Elise replied, in nervous ac-
cents:
"He is a Member of the Council
of the Commune, monsieur, and it
is I, who was to be his wife, who
asks for news of him."
A big
Then there was trouble.
burly drunken fellow said some-
thing about spies and Communists
which frightened Elise. But the
soldier to whom she had first spoken
took her part.
"Sit down," he shouted to the
other. "Mademoiselle's politics are
neither your affair nor mine, and
you shall not question her about
94
The Red Spell.
them. If you have the news she
asks for tell it. If not, be silent."
The drunken man subsided. Be-
cause Elise was pretty, and looked
helpless, public opinion was against
him. The others tried to remember
whether they had heard anything.
'Was it not said that he was
killed," said one man, "fighting
with Dombrowski, in the
Myrrha ?"
Rue
"No, no," said another. 'Not
killed-only wounded. And not
with Dombrowski, but with Brunel.”
A third cried: “You are wrong.
Durand is neither killed nor
wounded. He has been all the
while at the Hôtel de Ville. I have
it from a prisoner who had seen
him there."
Sergeant Boisjoly was right.
There was nothing to be learnt
from stories so various and con-
tradictory-nothing to be done
but to hope that the last and best
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95
alternative was true. So Elise
thanked the tellers of them, and
stayed a little longer, listening to
the talk, and then went home again.
But the impression that the talk
had left upon her brought her al-
most to despair. This street-fight-
ing was so much worse-so much
more bloody than anything she
had looked for. What she had
looked for-in common with Mon-
sieur Thiers and the Versailles gen-
erals—had been just a day or two's
sharp fighting, followed by sudden
and complete collapse. But now
she had seen and heard enough to
know that whatever happened to
the Commune, it would not collapse.
It would be crushed, no doubt; the
invading forces were so strong that
they could not help but crush it.
But there would be no surrender-
not even when everything was lost.
Nor was that the worst. The
atrocities that are inevitable in civil
96
The Red Spell.
At first
war were now beginning.
the Versailles generals had taken
many prisoners, and sent them off
between files of soldiers to head-
quarters. Now, furious at the fe-
rocity of the resistance, they were
beginning to take fewer prisoners,
and such as did fall into their hands
would generally be straightway
stood up against the nearest wall
and shot.
Such were the stories that Elise
had heard, while she sat among the
soldiers, listening to their talk; and
remembering them, she trembled.
For she knew well that Ernest Du-
rand would go to meet this fury,
and it seemed certain that no one
who faced it could escape from it.
All through the evening the dread-
ful thought possessed her; all
through the night it kept her sleep-
less.
Was he wounded, as one of the
soldiers had told her? She found
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97
herself hoping that she had heard
the truth. Then there was, at least,
the chance that he might be lying
somewhere safely out of harm's
way; whereas if he were still un-
hurt and fighting, every hour that
passed only added to his peril.
There was another thought that
hurt her still more cruelly.
"If only I knew that he were
thinking of me through it all, just
as I think of him!"
But how could that be? She had
seen how the frenzy of the fight
possessed the whole souls of men
who, till the last few days, had done
nothing for the Commune except to
talk and spend its paper money.
And Ernest had not only talked for
the Commune, but worked for it,
believing that it would regenerate
the world. How then should he
resent the frenzy, and find time to
think of her, when the existence of
98
The Red Spell.
the Commune trembled in the bal-
ance?
(6
"If the
'No, no," she sobbed.
Commune were finished he would be
mine and only mine. I know it.
But now, there is no hope-no hope.
at all. For the Commune will only
finish when all the Communists are
killed."
And out of this thought sprang
yet another-the thought of that
other woman who loved Ernest
Durand, and also loved the Com-
mune, and had vowed that she
would fight for it.
"Who knows? Perhaps at this
very minute, she is with him at the
barricades."
She could not help the thought,
or the sudden pang of jealousy that
came with it. It was no jealousy
of the ordinary sort. She had no
lurking fear that he might love that
other woman. It was only her cour-
age that she was jealous of—a cour-
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99,
age that she knew to be for her so
hopelessly impossible.
Oh, what a picture! A man and
a woman, vowed to a great cause,
and going out to the barricades to
die for it together. The dramatic.
splendor of it could appeal even to
a little shop girl in those dramatic
times. To think that she might
have done this thing, and so have
kept him with her to the last. And
then, again, to think that she was
afraid to do it.
"Yes, yes," she sobbed, "I am a
coward, and if he thinks of me at all,
it must be only to think that I am
a coward."
But then they had told her that
he was wounded. It was only one
story among many that she had
heard. Yet, somehow or other-
why, she neither knew nor asked
herself—that was the story that had
burnt itself into her mind. He was
wounded, and she could not come
100
The Red Spell.
t
to him. If she had been brave, as
that other woman was, she would
have been with him, and being with
him, might have saved him.
But she had not dared. She had
been so much afraid that he had had
to tell her how to hide herself away;
and now - who knew? perhaps
that other woman was in her place.
"A coward, and he knows I am a
coward," she sobbed, and sobbing
at last fell asleep.
And still in her sleep, which
was only brief and fitful, the same
thoughts pursued her, the same pict-
ures haunted her. The one bit of
street-fighting that she had seen
came back to her in her dreams.
Only, this time, the leader in the
black coat and the red scarf was
Ernest Durand, and the woman who
tried to climb on to the barricade
and wave the red flag in the face of
the enemy was Suzanne Touffroy.
They seemed to look up towards her
The Red Spell.
ΙΟΣ
window and recognize her, and de--
ride her because she was afraid to
come down and join the fight.
changed. She
with blood-
Then the scene
scene
saw Ernest Durand
stained bandages about his forehead
laid out upon a couch in a room in
some strange quarter of the town.
Suzanne Touffroy sat by him, bend-
ing over him, ministering to his needs
and she seemed to hear Suzanne's
voice saying to him, triumphantly:
"You see then it is I, not your
Elise, who nurses you. Your Elise
feared the bullets, and did not dare
to come."
It was very vivid. She seemed to
hear the words as clearly as though
they were spoken into her ear, and
calling out in her sleep she cried, de-
fiantly:
"No, I am not a coward, Ernest,
and I will come to you for all the
bullets."
The sound of her own voice woke
102
The Red Spell.
her. For a few moments she still
lay half-dazed upon her bed, regard-
less of the noises in the street. She
was so used to noise that a little
more or less of it could make no
difference to her.
Then waking more completely she
gradually became aware of a great
red glare lying across the window,
gleaming luridly through the cur-
tains and the blinds, and lighting up
every corner of her room. She
jumped up quickly and ran to the
window, and drew back the curtains.
and looked out.
A fire! And not one fire only, but
many fires on both banks of the
river, and in all quarters of the city.
The fiercest blaze of all was at the
Tuileries. The palace, where kings.
and emperors had held their court,
was a glowing furnace of flames
overhung by heavy canopies of pitch
black smoke. But great as the fire
was there, it was hardly greater than
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103
Here,
the other conflagrations.
there, and everywhere-from the
big buildings in the Rue Royale, from
the great government offices beside
the Seine-long tongues of flame
leapt up towards the sky. In the
streets crowds were gathering, eag-
erly inquiring of each other where
the danger was, while people thrust
their heads out of every window
shouting and gesticulating. The fire-
men of Versailles, hastily summoned,
galloped to their work of rescue.
Shells thrown by the big batteries.
of Chaumont and Père la Chaise fell
everywhere, kindling fresh confla-
grations where they burst, and a
strange and sickly smell-the smell
of petroleum-was in all the air.
Elise leant her hands upon the
window sill and looked out upon
the awful spectacle. But all her
terror was gone now, driven out by
the stronger emotion that possessed
her. As her waking thoughts had
104
The Red Spell.
pursued her in her dreams, so the
thoughts of her dreams stayed with
her now she was awake, and she
murmured:
No, Ernest, I am not a coward
any more, and I am coming to you
-coming to look for you until I
find you."
CHAPTER VII.
was
THE truth was as Elise had hoped
and feared. Ernest Durand
wounded. Suzanne Touffroy was
with him when he got his wound.
(6
I shall fight with you-on the
same barricade.”
So she had promised him; and
when the fighting came she kept
her word.
It was not hard. Giving no
thought to her, he made no effort
to mislead her, or escape from her.
Matters of more moment occupied
his mind. So she learned, without
trouble, that he was at the Hôtel
de Ville, and stationed herself in
the square outside it, waiting for
him.
The noise and the confusion
тоб
The Red Spell.
lasted all day long. The routed
soldiers came there to be rallied,
and the wounded to be safe, and
the recruits from the workmen's
quarters to ask for arms and get
their orders. Company after com-
pany was marched off, shouting and
singing, to the battle. But Suzanne
joined none of them, though many
would have been glad to have her.
She waited patiently till Durand
came out, and then she followed
him.
He did not see her, and at first
she did not speak to him. For, if
she spoke, there was always the
chance of a rebuff, and that she did
not wish to court. Better that she
should reveal herself to him sud-
denly, in the hour of danger, fight-
ing for the Commune, by his side.
So she followed doggedly, well
pleased that he should not see her
yet.
He, on his part, had certainly no
The Red Spell.
107
thought for her. Of Elise, indeed,
he had often thought, even during
these days of unceasing strain and
unrelieved excitement. The thought
that she was in danger weighed.
upon him, and the words that she
had spoken to him in the garden of
the Tuileries-" Then there will be
no afterwards for you and me,"
had come back painfully into his
mind, even when it was full of
other things. But of Suzanne Touf-
froy, and of her wish to die with
him at the barricades he had not
thought at all; and now he was
thinking only of the Commune-of
the chances there still might be of
saving it, and of the growing fear
that it would be disgraced.
He was leading a company of a
hundred men or so to reinforce the
resistance in the northern streets.
Some of his men were in the uni-
form of National Guards; more of
them were ragged workmen come
108
The Red Spell.
down at the call of the revolution
from the slums of Saint Antoine to
fight the "capitalist," the enemy of
all their houses.
They could not
march-these
citizen soldiers of the Commune;
they straggled all over the street,
and made no pretence to hold them-
selves upright. A rabble-that
seemed the only word for them.
Yet it was a word that wronged
them, for they would fight, and die
fighting, rather than run away.
One could gather that from the way
they chorused the "Chant du De-
part" as they went along. Pres-
ently they were to prove it, in a
fashion that should leave no room
for doubt.
Some of them recognized Suzanne,
and greeted her with the cry of:
"Vive la Capitaine !
belle Capitaine !"
Vive la
She answered with "Vive la Com-
mune!" and fell into line with the
The Red Spell.
109
hindmost, adding her clear contralto
to the chorus that they never ceased
to sing.
Still Durand did not see her;
the rough work before him claimed
his whole attention. But her im-
patience grew. She wanted him to
know that she was with him.
at last, she ran up, and touched him
lightly on the shoulder, saying:
"You see. We are going to fight
together, after all."
So,
Accident or design? It did not
matter to him, and he merely an-
swered:
"Good. The Commune needs all
the defenders it can find to fight for
it."
A cold reply. The Commune had
not helped to win him for her yet.
Presently, perhaps, but certainly
not yet. And, meanwhile, she must
not give him any chance to quarrel
with her; but if she talked, it must
ΠΙΟ
The Red Spell.
be indifferently, as a mere friend
might talk.
"Are
"What news?" she asked.
things going as badly as I hear?"
"We have lost ground," he said.
"Perhaps we shall recover it. We
are here to try."
"And Delescluze ?" she contin-
ued; “has he finished yet with his
proclamations?"
This touched a note that made
him readier to talk. He told her
how he had sat all day with Deles-
cluze, and at the end of the day had
quarrelled with him because he
wanted to disgrace the revolution.
She listened, throwing in a ques-
tion here and there. Once, she
remembered, at a certain political
meeting in the church of St. Eus-
tache, one of the orators—a woman
-had spoken significantly of petro-
leum, and the use that might be
made of it. She had applauded then,
and nothing had happened since to
The Red Spell,
III
make her change her mind about
petroleum. But she could not let
such a discordant thought find
utterance now, and when he had
finished, simply said:
"Good. Then we will fight to-
gether. You will take me for your
recruit ?"
And he replied:
"Why, yes. One could hardly
refuse so willing a recruit in these
days."
So they fought together at the
barricades; and there is no need to
describe the fighting, because all
street fights are very much alike.
Only, this time, there were no
fluctuations in the struggle. Some
of the barricades might hold out
more stubbornly than others; but
the time came when each of them
was taken. For, when a barricade
proved formidable to direct assault,
the enemy would enter the houses
on each side of the street, and tun-
112
The Red Spell.
nel through the brickwork from one
house to the next, until they turned
the defence, and so put the Commun-
ists to flight. So they battled on, all
through the afternoon and evening
-the women fighting as bravely as
the men-always losing ground,
though never losing heart. And, all
through the struggle,
fought on by Ernest Durand's
side, happy to be with him, and
careful to say no word to break the
spell that circumstances had woven
for her. But Ernest Durand paid
no heed to her; and hardly even
seemed to know that she was there.
Suzanne
At last night fell, and they made
their bivouac in the open street in
a darkness lighted by the fitful flare
of burning houses that the shells.
had set on fire, and in a silence broken
only by the noise of the cannon
and the voices of the sentries posted
in their front challenging the
passers-by. An attack might come
The Red Spell.
113
at any moment, and it was necessary
to be prepared. So mattresses
were requisitioned, and fetched out
from the houses, and laid upon the
ground to serve as need might
settle, either for beds or barricades.
Tired as they all were, there were
but few of them who slept; and
La Capitaine had less desire for
sleep than any. The rest seemed
good to her only because it gave
her time to think.
to
All sorts of memories came back
to her, as she lay there with the
soldiers of the Commune, in the
narrow roadway, looking up towards
the stars. Unhappy memories,
most of them, and memories
be ashamed of. She saw things
more clearly in the chill and quiet
hours when the pulse slackens, and
the tide of human strength is at its
lowest. Yes, yes, she understood
the gulf that lay-a gulf of her own
making-between her and this lit-
114
The Red Spell.
tle bourgeoise whom Ernest Durand
preferred to her. She had been
wrong-she had presumed, when
she had dared to hope.
And yet Ernest Durand had once
been kind to her, and the thought
of his kindness was the one shining
point among many dreadful memo-
ries, and it was hard to think that
this had come between them, and
that, even when she fought beside
him for the cause he loved so
dearly, she could not touch his
heart.
Still, even if he would not love
her, it was good to be so near him.
She stole closer and closer as the
night went on, and as he grew
drowsy she even dared to slip her
hand into his. He let it stay there,
and she fancied that he pressed it.
It was only fancy, but it made her
happy.
Then suddenly came an alarm, a
crash, a great confusion, shrill cries
The Red Spell.
115
of pain, and loud shouts of defiance,
as men grasped their arms and ran
to the barricade, supposing that an
assault was imminent.
It was a shell from the Mont-
martre battery that had fallen near
them, and a splinter of it had struck
Ernest Durand upon the forehead.
Now was her chance; now she
could help him; now she could do
more to save him than his little
bourgeois girl.
And first she must make haste
and get him to some safe place be-
fore worse happened.
She called to one of the National
Guards.
"Citizen Louvet!"
"Citoyenne!"
"Citizen Durand is wounded.
Help me to take him away from
here before the Versaillais come."
"But where, Citoyenne? Into the
house here, for example?"
She replied impatiently:
116
The Red Spell.
"Into the house? When you
know that the Versaillais will be
here presently to search all the
houses, you ask if you shall take
him into the house."
"But there is no other place,
Citoyenne.'
It was not her habit to be gentle
of speech when she was excited.
"Are there no other houses,
blockhead?" she cried. "Help me
to take Citizen Durand to my own
apartment in the Rue des Etrangers,
which is close to Père la Chaise.'
""
It was not certain that she would
be obeyed. There was a beginning
of grumbling, especially among the
men from Saint Antoine who had
no respect for leaders, but stickled
for equality. One of them began
gruffly :
"If all the wounded soldiers of
the Commune are to be carried to
the Rue des Etrangers—”
But Suzanne stopped him.
The Red Spell.
117
"Be silent," she said, imperiously.
"Who spoke to you about all the
soldiers of the Commune? I said
only that Citizen Durand should be
taken to the Rue des Etrangers,
and I will be obeyed. Why do you
call me 'La Capitaine ' if you will not
take my orders? Do as I tell you,
Citizen Louvet."
They looked at her dubiously for
a moment, and then yielded. Citi-
zen Louvet lifted Ernest Durand in
his arms and followed where Su-
zanne guided him, and the others
refrained from interfering, and one
or two of them even shouted "Vive
la Capitaine " after her as she went.
CHAPTER VIII.
THESE were the things that had
happened while Elise lay awake on
her bed and wondered, and Ernest
Durand had already been carried to
the house in the Rue des Etrangers
when she looked out of her window
at the flames, and, mastering her
fears, resolved that she would go
and search for him.
She had no plans except the
vaguest. Her one idea was to get
into the quarters of the city that
the Communists still held, trusting
that there she would be able to get
some more precise direction.
she dressed herself by the light of
the flames whose red glow filled the
room, put on her jacket and her hat,
and stepped down into the street.
So
The Red Spell.
119
Her friend, Sergeant Boisjoly,
was still on guard there, and he saw
and stopped her.
"Where are you going, little
Communist?" he asked.
"I am going to look for him,
monsieur," she answered.
"But where?"
"Everywhere, monsieur, until I
find him."
"And you are not frightened?'
"Yes, I am frightened," she said,
'but I am going to look for him all
the same."
He wondered very much. What
could this gentle child have in com-
mon with those black Communist
scoundrels who had set Paris in this
blaze? He could not understand
it. But, after all, it was her own
affair. So he shrugged his shoul-
ders and gave her the only direction
that he could.
"You must cross the river," he
said, "by the Pont d'Alma. Higher
120
The Red Spell.
up it is possible that they will not
let you cross.”
"And then, monsieur?'
"Ah, then, I cannot tell you. It
will depend. I think it is in Belle-
ville that you will find most of the
Communists, who are not killed.
But how you are to pass our lines
and get to Belleville, I do not
know. It will be hard."
I
"I mean to try, monsieur.
have no choice," she answered.
"Good-bye, and thank you. You
have been very kind to me."
(6
Good-bye, little Communist,"
he said. “Good luck go with you,”
and he waved his hand, cheerily
wishing her God-speed.
And so on the lurid morning of
the 24th of May, Elise conquered
her cowardice, and set forth alone
to seek her lover in the burning
city.
Moving as one in a dream and
guided only by her single dominant
The Red Spell.
121
desire, she hardly noticed the horror
of the things she heard and saw.
Even afterwards, when they came
back to her in a measure, she could
have given no connected and or-
derly account of them. There re-
mained only as it were the confused
memory of a fearful night-mare-
the vague impression of bursting
shells and burning houses, of over-
turned cannon and battered barri-
cades, of the shouting of soldiers,
the rattle of musketry, the scream
of mitrailleuses, of slippery pools of
blood upon the pavements, and
dead bodies lying unregarded in the
streets. These things and a few
salient pictures of especial horror
branded indelibly on her mind were
all that she recalled.
At first, indeed, her passage was
easy and undisturbed by any start-
ling circumstances.
The quarter
where she lived was solidly held by
the Versaillais, and even the wild-
122
The Red Spell.
est of the wild women who went
about by order of Citizen Delescluze
throwing petroleum bottles into the
cellars had not ventured there. So
she walked along as quickly as the
crowds permitted over the Bridge
of Alma to the quays.
There there were no crowds, for
the shells were falling, and the
prudent stayed indoors or had
already sought refuge in some safer
place. Broken lamp-posts and shat-
tered kiosks, and the dead bodies
of men and horses, showed that
there had been fighting there a lit-
tle while before, but now the fight-
ing was over and the place de-
serted.
Close to the bridge, but hardly
sheltered by it, a solitary old man.
sat fishing-the inevitable Archi-
medes of this time of tumult. But
Elise did not think of the story
of Archimedes when she saw him,
for she had never heard of it. She
The Red Spell.
123
merely wondered in a dazed and
foolish way whether the man had
caught anything, and then just as
idly wondered at herself for feeling
such a curiosity at such a time.
She did not pause, however, but
pressed on, dodging the shells, and
following the long line of the quays.
Nearing the palace of the Tuileries
she again found crowds-firemen
fighting the flames, soldiers keeping
order, curious spectators pressing
as near as they were allowed to
see the awful conflagration.
paused for a moment almost invol-
untarily to gaze at it, and then turn-
ing up a side street struck into the
heart of the city, where the battle
was still raging furiously.
She
That was the time when she began
to lose count of her movements.
Her wanderings took her every way
in turn. Blocked in one direction,
she would choose another, and
weary of walking, still pushed for-
124
The Red Spell.
ward to that vague, indefinite goal
that she had set before her.
Pene-
trating at one moment almost to the
front of the Versaillais line she
would be roughly ordered back the
next by soldiers who were too busy
with their work of slaughter to have
ears for her questions or entreaties.
And so she wandered, resolutely,
but for a long while, hopelessly,
seeing things that were to linger in
her memory for ever afterwards.
In one street a troop of prisoners
passed her-National Guards, civil-
ians, women, and even children.
They were handcuffed and marched
bareheaded-filthy and miserable
to look upon. The spectators
jeered and insulted them as they
went by; the soldiers prodded them
with their bayonets when they
flagged. Well-dressed women, from
the great bourgeois palaces in the
Boulevard Haussmann, ran out into
the road and struck them, crying :
The Red Spell.
125
"That is for my husband whom
you locked up at Mazas,” or :
"That is for my son whom you
made to fight for you in the trenches
at Asnieres."
Elise looked at them with tears of
pity in her eyes. Might not Ernest.
Durand pass her at any moment, a
helpless victim of the same bru-
tality?
But he was not in any of the
gangs that passed her, and as she
went further, other and worse hor-
rors met her eyes. She saw Com-
munists dying for their faith. And
it was not enough for them to die
bravely-they must die dramat-
ically as well.
There was one old man-a grey-
beard of the revolution-whom the
soldiers, just as she was passing,
flung in their passion upon a heap
of mud, swearing that they would
shoot him there. Before they could
fire he sprang to his feet again.
126
The Red Spell,
"I have fought bravely," he cried,
"and I have the right not to die in
the mire."
And then they respected him, and
let him stand up upon his feet to
die.
Somewhere else in the midst of a
row of prisoners stood out against
a wall to be mowed down by the
mitrailleuse there was a woman car-
rying in her arms a child of some
three or four years of age. Prob-
ably the soldiers had not seen the
child; doubtless the mother might
have saved its life for the asking.
But she disdained to ask.
"Show these wretches that you
know how to die upright," she said,
and stood the little one beside her
to await the volley.
All these things Elise saw in her
long quest, and presently she was
the witness of a scene of which the
pathos moved her even more.
It happened that she had come up
The Red Spell.
127
one of the streets just after the cap-
ture of a barricade. Here, too,
some prisoners had been taken, and
among them was a boy of twelve,
who had served the guns as bravely
as his elders. He was to die. The
order had gone forth from head-
quarters that all Communists taken
with arms in their hands were to be
shot forthwith without formality.
The little lad, with the smoke of
the powder black upon his chubby
face, stepped forward and spoke to
the officer, saluting him.
((
Monsieur," he said, "this house
here is where my mother lives. Be-
fore I am shot I ask your leave to
take this silver watch of mine to her,
so that at least she may not lose
everything-when I am dead."
The officer was moved to pity.
"Go then, my boy, be quick," he
said, and let him run, never doubt-
ing that he had seen the last of him.
But it was not two minutes before
128
The Red Spell.
the child was back again. Again
saluting the officer, he said:
"Eh bien, monsieur, now I am
ready. You see that I have kept
my word," and then prepared to
take his place beside the other pris-
oners.
But a great frown gathered on the
colonel's face, and Elise heard him
swear a great oath, and saw him
seize that boy by the two shoulders
and roaring at him. "Stay, then,
with your mother till I come to
fetch you, idiot," hurl him violently
back with a kick to speed his prog-
ress into the doorway from which
he came.
But though Elise saw these things,
she hardly heeded them. It was
only afterwards that she found the
pictures in her memory, burnt there,
never to be forgotten. For the mo-
ment her one thought was to get to
Belleville and find her lover; her
only immediate purpose to pass by
The Red Spell.
129
some means or other through the
Versaillais lines.
It was hard; and for a long time
it seemed impossible. They were
fighting everywhere throughout the
blazing city, and the space between
the attacking and defending armies.
seemed to be raked everywhere with
shot and shell. Elise was almost
despairing, when at last she found
a way.
She had asked the soldiers again
and again to let her through, but they
had always sent her back; some-
times, when she persisted, even
threatening to arrest her. Then she
saw an Englishman-one of the
many war correspondents who were
following in the track of the troops.
At the time of the first siege she had
heard all sorts of stories about the
courage and resource of English war
correspondents, and the thought
struck her that perhaps this man
might help her if he chose. She
130
The Red Spell.
mustered her courage and went up
to him, and told him what she
wanted.
"Impossible, mademoiselle, quite
impossible," was his answer.
But she persisted:
"Would it be quite impossible,
monsieur, if it were quite necessary?
I will tell you what I am afraid to
tell the soldiers-that my lover is
with the Communists, and that I
must go to him."
He answered kindly :
"In that case, mademoiselle," he
said, "I will only say that it is very
dangerous. There is a way—the
way by which I myself have just
been obliged to come here from
Belleville, but you will have to cross
a street that is under fire."
"Please show me the street, mon-
sieur."
He bowed, as though it were only
an ordinary direction that he was
giving her.
The Red Spell.
131
"This way then, mademoiselle."
He guided her into a house, and
through it to a yard behind. The
yard abutted on another street, on
the opposite side of which was a
narrow winding passage. Up and
down the street the Communists
and the Versaillais were firing at
each other fitfully.
"Are you afraid?" the war cor-
respondent asked.
"No, monsieur, I do not dare to
be afraid."
"Then wait for a moment till the
fire slackens. Now is your chance.
Quick. Run for your life."
A bullet
She ran like a hare.
whizzing past her head flattened
itself against a lamp-post. But she
was unhurt, and for the moment
out of danger. Following the pas-
sage to the end she found herself
at last safely among the Com-
munists.
But even then her troubles were
132
The Red Spell.
not ended. In the parts of Paris
that resisted, the turmoil was even
greater than in the parts that had
been taken. The shells rained more
thickly, for the Versaillais batteries.
were stronger and better served.
Fires were as numerous, if not so
big, for the Communists tried to
burn each quarter of the town as
they abandoned it. Order and dis-
cipline were lost; the army had
become a mob that pillaged when it
was not fighting; commands were
given by anyone who chose to
assume authority, and disobeyed by
everyone who chose to disapprove
of them.
Night fell, and still Elise wan-
dered to and fro, hither and thither,
now in the black shadows of the
by-streets, now in the bright glare
of the blazing houses. Ever and
again they stopped and questioned
her,but she told them her errand, and
they let her go again. Once only
The Red Spell.
133
there was trouble, when some Belle-
ville workman tried to detain her,
saying roughly when he heard her
story:
"You seek Durand? But Durand
is a traitor, Durand said that Paris
should not be illuminated."
(6
For it was thus, as our illumin-
ations," that the Communists spoke
jestingly of the burning of their city.
But Elise answered gently and
pleadingly:
"I know nothing of these things,
monsieur; I know only that I seek
my lover, who, they tell me, has
been wounded, fighting for the
Commune."
That struck the chord of senti-
ment, for the Communists were
sentimental to the end; and the
man relented, and let her pass.
So the lurid night passed, and the
dawn broke as luridly. Elise was
hungry, and faint, and footsore.
She could have sat down on a door-
134
The Red Spell.
But still her
step, like a tired child, and cried
herself to sleep.
love sustained her with unnatural
strength, and she dragged herself
wearily, but restlessly, from Belle-
ville to Menilmontant, and from
Menilmontant back again to Belle-
ville. And still the answer to all
her questions was the same.
"Where is Durand? I cannot
tell you. Who knows where is any-
one in these days?"
Then another thought sprang in
her mind. Surely Delescluze would
know what had happened to him,
and Delescluze no doubt would be
easier to find. So with her limbs
aching and her strength failing her,
she set herself to search for Deles-
cluze.
But she was not to have speech
with Citizen Delescluze, though she
got news of him and found him.
He was at the Chateau d'Eau they
told her, and she trudged there
The Red Spell.
135
wearily and slowly. And when she
got there this is what she saw.
In front of the Place du Chateau
d'Eau there was an abandoned bar-
ricade. The fusilade that rained
on them from the housetops oppo-
site had driven the Communists
back from it, but the Versaillais
had not yet come up to plant the
tri-color among its debris. A little
way behind it stood a group of
Communist leaders. Among them
Elise saw Citizen Delescluze and
hurried to get near him.
Then it was that of a sudden,
and without a word of warning,
Citizen Delescluze stole quietly
away from the little knot that were
debating the fortunes of the battle,
and advanced alone towards the
broken barricade. None of the
others at first saw what he was do-
ing, or was even aware that he had
left them. Then Citizen Jourde
and Citizen Johannard looked up,
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and seeing him shouted to him to
come back. He half turned his
head and waved his hand to them
in answer, and then walked on again
with tottering and feeble steps.
Then they knew that Delescluze
at last despaired of the Commune,
and thought that his hour had come
to die for it, and they stood still, as
men in a trance, and watched him.
He carried a red flag in his hand,
and the red scarf of his office was
knotted round his waist. The
marksmen aimed at him from the
housetops, but their shots fell wide,
and he still walked on unswerving
and unharmed. At last he reached
the barricade. Slowly-for he was
very old and very weak-he clam-
bered up on to the top of it, and
rose upright upon his feet, waving
the red flag above his head. For a
moment his friends saw him stand-
ing there amid the rain of bullets,
lifting his left hand as though to
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137
screen his eyes from the setting sun
that flamed full upon his face and
lit it as with the glory of a martyr's
halo. And then they saw him die
for the Commune as he had wished
to die.
CHAPTER IX.
So she had come to the Place du
Chateau d'Eau too late to have
speech with Delescluze.
Still, Citizen Jourde, or Citizen
Johannard might have the news she
wanted. She asked them, though
without much hope that they would
help her, and Citizen Jourde re-
plied:
"Durand is wounded. He has
been taken to a house in the Rue
des Etrangers, No. 36. I passed
him when he was being carried
there. There was a woman with
him—she whom they call 'La Capi-
taine.'
So it was as she had feared. Su-
zanne Touffroy was with him, tak-
ing the place that ought by rights
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139
to have been hers. A cruel thought
that, and worse thoughts hung on
it. Suppose, when she came, Su-
zanne Touffroy refused to yield her
place to her. Suppose there were a
wrangle in the sick room-that
would be worse even than the hor-
ror of her two days' wanderings
through Paris.
With such thoughts besieging her,
she turned her face to Père La
Chaise.
It seemed an endless journey,
though it was not really far. She
dragged herself rather than walked
along the streets, for she could not
have run now even if his life had
rested on her running. Her strength
seemed to have gone from her when
at last she knew her goal and was
in sight of it. Once or twice she
was obliged to sit down in a door-
way and rest herself. But not for
long. She soon got up and la-
bored on again, until at last she
140
The Red Spell.
read the words "Rue des Etrang-
ers" written up at the corner of one
of the streets to the south of Père
La Chaise. In five more minutes
she had found the house that Citi-
zen Jourde had told her of, and en-
tered it.
An old woman-the wife, as it
seemed, of the concierge-came,
with an odor of garlic, out of the
kitchen.
"Madame seeks someone?" she
asked.
Elise told her. She replied:
"Then I cannot let you pass.
The other said that no one was to
enter."
"What other?"
"La Capitaine-she who brought
Durand here to her apartment,
when he was wounded."
"But I must enter. I tell you I
have business with M. Durand, and
I must go to him.”
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141
The old woman shrugged her
shoulders.
"I know nothing of that, madam.
I have my orders."
It was quite clear what she
wanted. Elise drew a five-franc
piece from her purse, and pushed it
into the old woman's hand, saying:
"But it is as I tell you, and I
must go to him. Please show me
the apartment."
The bribe attained its end.
"On the fourth floor, the door
that faces you at the head of the
staircase."
And then, as Elise passed out of
hearing, she chuckled to herself:
"Five francs from each of them.
That is as it should be. Now they
may fight for him, and we will see
who wins."
But while she mumbled, Elise had
already toiled on up the stairs,
clinging to the balustrade, and
found the room she sought. It was
142
The Red Spell.
in her mind that Suzanne would re-
ceive her violently, and her nerves
troubled her as she pulled the bell-
rope.
There was a pause for a few min-
utes. Then the door opened, and
she stepped in quickly, fearing to
find it slammed on her, and said:
"I believe Monsieur Ernest Du-
rand is here. I wish to see him."
But there was no scene, no wran-
gle such as she had looked for.
For Suzanne knew very well that,
if there were any trouble, Ernest
Durand might easily hear it and
come limping out to interfere; and
that would be a sorry way to end
the happiness that she had found
in being near him. She had bound
him to her now by ties of gratitude.
Surely he must be nearer to loving
her than he had ever been. The
charm could not last-there was no
hope of that. All the same, there
must be no violence to break it
The Red Spell.
143
suddenly. So, though she hated
Elise for coming to invade the new
happiness that she had found, she
kept down her hatred, and spoke
courteously, and almost kindly.
"I know you," she said. "Your
name is Elise. You also know me,
I think?"
But Elise had no inclination to be
friendly with the woman who had
supplanted her, though it was only
for an hour. She answered coldly:
"No, mademoiselle, I do not
know. Will you please tell me
where I shall find Monsieur Du-
rand?"
To her astonishment, Suzanne
still kept her temper.
"Wait here then a moment, while
I tell him," she said, and disap-
peared.
Then she returned, and led the
way into the room where Ernest
Durand lay upon his bed; and once
again, after the long days of agony
144
The Red Spell.
of battle, the lovers were together,
and Suzanne knew that, for all that
had happened they were lovers still.
The wound, it seemed, was not so
very serious. He looked very weak
and ill as he lay there with the
bandages about his head. But he
was in no danger-was, in fact, re-
covering, and could already talk a
little. So Elise came over and sat
down in the chair beside his bed
and kissed him and held his hand;
and Suzanne did not dare remon-
strate when she saw her place
usurped calmly, and, as it were, by
one who had a right to it, but sat
sullenly by the window, now watch-
ing them and now looking out into
the street, but always nursing her
deep and bitter sense of wrong.
That was on the evening of the
Thursday. From then until late in
the afternoon of the next day the
two women who loved Ernest Du-
rand continued in the room with
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145
him. They never quarrelled; they
hardly even spoke. Each in a way
was afraid of the other, and each
felt constrained and embarrassed by
the other's presence. But in the
presence of the sick man they both
covered up their feelings, and tried
not to show their embarrassment
even by their manner. He needed
both their ministrations, and while
he suffered, there was no place for
jealousy.
There was a time when Elise had
to let herself sleep a little, and then
Suzanne took her seat by the bed,
and was happy. But so soon as
Elise woke Suzanne yielded the
place to her again. Elise did not
ask for it, but her manner claimed
it. Durand wished her to be by
him. They both felt that, although
he had not said so; and, therefore,
Suzanne yielded of her own accord,
fearing that if she did not he might
be appealed to, and decide against
146
The Red Spell.
her. Only, she would not leave
them. She had saved his life, she
told herself; and that, surely, gave
her the right to stay with him.
So the two women watched with
him through the night, and in the
morning it no more tired or troubled
him to talk. But as his strength
came back, they both saw that his
personal life was less and less to
him, and that the red spell held him
more and more. He would forget
the Commune, Elise had told her-
self, now that he was ill, and she
was nursing him; and yet, when he
woke, his first thought was to ask
for news of it. How was the fight
going? And did the people still
hold out?
They sat and told him-each of
them in turn-what they knew about
the battle in the streets. He could
understand them when they spoke of
that, though everything else seemed
dim and hazy to him in his fever.
The Red Spell.
147
Suzanne spoke first; and her elo-
quence aroused Elise to a strange
sense of jealousy. For Suzanne had
enthusiasm to inspire her, and spoke
with the deliberate purpose to
impress. Moreover, she had a
great story to tell-the story of the
death and burial of General Dom-
browski, of which the concierge
below, who was of the National
Guard, had told her-and she knew
how to draw the picture so that it
should seem to stand out before her
listeners' eyes.
"It was at Père La Chaise," she
said; "and they buried him in the
midst of the uproar of the battle.
For below the houses were burning,
aud the smoke hung over them, and
the fighting was in every street, and
even in the cemetery itself the shells
fell, and the air was deafened by
the noise of cannon. But they
carried his body there, with the red
flag thrown upon it for a pall, and
148
The Red Spell.
the National Guards stood by it
bare-headed while the coffin was
lowered into the grave. And then
Citizen Vermorel stood up and
spoke to them. There he lies,' he
said, 'there he lies who was accused
of treachery. The first of us all, he
has given his life for the Commune,
and we shall we not give our lives
also? Let us swear, then, that we
will leave here only to follow his
example.""
She spoke in burning tones, with
flashing eyes and quick excited.
gestures. He felt the magic of it.
It stirred his revolutionary fever, as
it was meant to, and made him long
to rise up from his bed and gain
the battle before it should be too
late.
But he was too weak as yet. All
that he could do was to press her
with his eager questions.
"Was Vermorel dead?" he asked.
The Red Spell.
149
"And what news of Varlin, of
Ranvier, of Delescluze?"
Then Elise spoke, and told him
how she had seen the death of
Delescluze; and it was Suzanne's
turn to be jealous.
Elise was not so eloquent as she
had been. She told her story seem-
ing to be conscious of the drama of
it, without a single sign of enthusi-
asm for the cause for which her lover
had faced death. But while she told
it she leant forward as Suzanne had
not dared to do, and held her lover's
hand caressingly, and mixed up her-
self and her own troubles, with the
stories, as though these were af-
ter all the things that really mat-
tered.
'It was while I was looking for
you, Ernest," she began, "and just
before I found you. No one could
tell me where you were, and I
thought perhaps Monsieur Deles-
cluze would know. So I went to
150
The Red Spell.
seek out Monsieur Delescluze that
I might ask him.”
From this beginning she went on
to tell him of the dreadful sight that
she had seen at the Place du Cha-
teau d'Eau, and his eyes lighted, and
he murmured:
(6
Ah, he was a brave man was
Delescluze. He has disgraced the
Commune; yes, but he was a brave
man, none the less."
She talked on, telling him of the
other things which she had seen and
heard in her wanderings through the
streets, ignoring the other woman's
presence, and talking just as though
she were alone with him.
She told him of the burning of Paris
and its attendant horrors; of the
petroleuses, who slunk from house to
house to do their wicked work; of the
wild women who ran out to meet the
soldiers, affecting to welcome them,
and then offering them poisoned food
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151
and wine. Once more, when she
paused, he muttered:
terrible.
"It is terrible-too
They disgrace the Commune. Where
are the leaders of the people, that
they allow them to disgrace the
Commune thus?"
And, as he spoke, he made an ef-
fort, as though he would leave his
bed to join them, and fell back
again exhausted,
But Elise sought not to excite him
but to calm him, and when his
strength began to return to him a
little, she drew closer, and spoke of
things more personal and more inti-
mate. It was nearly over now, she
said, this fighting, and he must not
think of it any more, because he was
too ill and weak. But when he was
well again, then they would be quite
happy, and there would be no more
politics for her to be jealous of.
Were they not always happy when
152
The Red Spell.
there were no politics to come be-
tween them?
Thus she prattled on, paying no
more heed to Suzanne's presence
than if she had been miles away.
He, on his part, was too weak to ans-
wer more than a sentence here and
there.
But the reaction had come after
his excitement, and he was tired, and
it soothed him to have her there,
holding his hands, and whispering
her love into his ears, and he lis-
tened, gratefully and smiling, and
forgot, as she did, that they were
not alone.
Suzanne felt the slight, but suf-
fered it in silence. Perhaps though
Elise was as gentle as she herself
was violent, there was something in
Elise's manner that subdued her—
some tacit assumption of superiority
of which she felt the justice even
when she most resented it—the nat-
ural advantage which the civilized
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153
woman has over the wild woman
wherever the primitive rule of vio-
lence may not prevail.
So at first Suzanne sat and listened
to them sullenly, with the cruel feel-
ing that Ernest Durand did not want
her laying painful hold upon her
mind. Then, almost unnoticed by
them, she got up and moved back to
the window, and sat there nursing
her anger and her resentment, tell-
ing herself in her bitterness that he
had driven her away from him,
though in truth he had not spoken
an unkind word to her. And there
she stayed as sullenly as ever, sub-
missive, but not resigned, with an-
gry thoughts chasing each other
through her brain until she could en-
dure no more. Then with a sudden
impulse she sprang to her feet, and
caught up her revolver from the
table, where she had placed it, and
fixed it in her belt, exclaiming :
"Enough of this. I go to
154
The Red Spell.
the barricades.
there."
They want me
They looked up startled, for they
had both forgotten her. But she
ran to the door, and had disappeared
from the room before they had time
to answer, whether to approve or
protest.
CHAPTER X.
THEY were alone at last; and
while the forces of the Commune
were being rolled back, street by
street, towards Belleville, and
Charonne, and Menilmontant, Elise
watched by Ernest Durand's bed in
the upper chamber of the house in
the Rue des Etrangers, to the
south of the Père La Chaise.
A serene happiness was in her
mind. Suzanne had gone out of his
life for ever, and even the Commune
should not dispute him with her
any more. She had only to stay
there and nurse him through his
sickness, and Suzanne should trouble
her no more, and the Commune
blow by and be forgotten, and a new
life of happiness and quiet spring
156
The Red Spell.
up for them out of its ashes. If
only the Commune would die
quickly-if only the Versaillais
would make haste and finish it
before his strength came back to
him, bringing with it the renewed
desire of battle! She knelt down
by his bedside, and prayed that this
might be.
to
But his strength was coming back
him-coming fast; and the
Commune seemed an unconscion-
ably long time in dying. A thought
came to her. There was no one
but herself to nurse him, or attend
to him. Suppose she were stub-
born and refused to give him food.
In that way she might keep him
weak so that it would be impossible
for him to go down and fight until
there should be no Commune left to
fight for. Only she was afraid.
For he was sick and needed food,
and if he did not have it he might
die. So she did not dare do this,
2
The Red Spell.
157
but ministered to all his wants,
trembling the while to see him
growing stronger and stronger
every hour.
She had not won him yet. The
red spell was coming back and lay-
ing hold of him again; and she
must fight the red spell with every
weapon in her armory.
No doubt of that! For the noise
of the battle was always in his ears,
and grew nearer and louder as the
time slipped on, rekindling the
revolutionary fever in his brain.
He raised himself in his bed and
listened eagerly.
Hark!" he said. "Out there
they are dying for the Commune.
And I—"
"And you are very weak and ill,
Ernest, and must lie still, and let
me nurse you till the Commune is
all over."
She bent over him, and kissed
him as she spoke; and for a while
158
The Red Spell.
she quieted him. But only for a
while. For the uproar of the con-
flict grew, and his impatient rest-
lessness broke out again.
"Listen again," he said.
getting nearer now.
"It is
And I-who
was a leader of the Commune-
what right have I to be hiding
myself away up here, while the peo-
ple whom I led are dying for it?"
This time it was harder to calm
him. She almost had to hold him
down in his bed by force,
"I will not let you go," she said.
"You are too ill and weak. You
know that you could not help the
Commune if you went."
It was true, and he knew it to be
true. But at least he must have
news.
Unless news were brought
to him, he could have no peace at all.
"Then find out for me how it is
going," he cried. "I cannot bear
to lie here and not know what is
happening to the Commune."
The Red Spell.
159:
She obeyed, and went out to look
for news, locking the door behind
her as she went, in the fear that he
would get up and escape from her
while she was away.
But she was not absent long. In
little more than half-an-hour she
was back with him again, with terri-
ble stories to report.
Her face was pale-she could
hardly speak for her excitement.
But she had found a weapon-a
weapon with which, it seemed to
her, she could not fail to drive the
red spell out of him for ever. For
she knew things now that must dis-
gust him with the Commune-
things that must convince him that
no honest man could fight for the
Commune any longer.
"It is too dreadful, Ernest," she
"so dreadful that I can
began ;
scarcely tell you.”
His question showed that he half
divined her meaning.
160
The Red Spell.
"But you must tell me," he said.
"They still disgrace the Com-
mune?"
"Disgrace the Commune?" she
repeated. "They do more.
disgrace humanity itself."
They
"Tell me then; tell me, Elise,"
he urged. "What is it that they
have done?"
She was eloquent enough now.
It was only by her eloquence that
she could save him from himself.
"What is it that they have
done?" she cried. "You should
ask me rather what it is that they
have not done! They have set fire
to Paris-that you know already,
and forgive them for it, and would
still go down and fight for them.
And I now tell you that they have
done murder-cruel and cold-
blooded murder-in the open
streets."
'Not murder, Elise. You must
have been deceived; they must
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бг
have told you wrong. I know every
leader of the Commune. They are
men who will fight, and who will
die-as Dombrowski has died, as
Delescluze has died—but they are
not men who will murder."
"But I tell you, Ernest, that they
have murdered. There is no doubt
of it at all. I have it from Pierre,
the concierge below. It is not half
an hour since he came back here,
and stripped off his uniform of the
National Guard, saying he would
not fight for the Commune any more.
That I might get news for you I
questioned him, and he told me of
the murders that your Communists
have done, first at La Roquette, and
afterwards in the streets of Belle-
ville."
He began to understand.
"At La Roquette?
tages?" he muttered.
The hos-
"Call them hostages if you like.
I do not know. All I know is that
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The Red Spell.
they were the prisoners of the Com-
mune-the Archbishop Barboy, the
Abbé De Guerry, the President
Bonjean, and some others. They
were good men who in all their lives
had done no harm to anyone. But
because they had been beaten at
the barricades your National Guards
marched down to La Roquette and
told these men that they must die.
They gave them no time even to
prepare themselves for death.
Thank God that they were good
men, prepared to die no matter
when. But your National Guards
jeered at them as they were being
marched down to the place of exe-
cution in the courtyard, and when
two of the men, for very shame at
their own wickedness, knelt down
before the archbishop and asked
him to forgive them for what they
did, the others ran at them, and
kicked and struck them, and threat-
ened that they would shoot them
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163
also. That is why I tell you that
your Communists are murderers.”
It was telling-she felt sure that:
it was telling. But she would not
pause or give him time to interrupt.
For she had more to tell-more:
dreadful stories to disgust him with
the Commune.
"But that is not all. That is not
even the worst that your Commun-·
ists have done. They have also
murdered the Dominicans who were:
arrested. They let them loose, tell-
ing them that they were free, and
must make haste to get away, and
then the traitors shot them down
like rabbits as they ran. And then
there were more murders-the
cruellest of all-in the Rue Haxo,
in Belleville. Not great men like
the archbishop and the abbé, but
the common people, gens d'armes,
shopkeepers, private citizens, whose
only crime was that they did not
love the Commune. But the Na-
64
The Red Spell.
tional Guards took them up to
Belleville, and made them go into a
yard in the Rue Haxo. The crowd
followed-as many of them as could
enter-and pushed the prisoners up
on to a piece of raised ground
against the wall. There were some
in the crowd who protested, and
tried to save the prisoners, but the
others yelled at them, calling them
traitors, and bidding them be silent.
And then they fired at the men-
volley after volley-until they all had
fallen, and where they had fallen.
they trampled on the bodies and
struck at them with the butt ends of
their guns, like so many madmen
drunk with blood."
At last she paused, breathless,
and Ernest Durand did not speak.
The truth was too terrible, and he
knew not what to say.
But Elise perceived the advantage
that this truth had given her, and
followed it. Her manner changed,
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165
and she bent over him and whis-
pered to him gently:
"Pierre was right, Ernest. Was
not Pierre right, having seen these
things, to say he would not fight
for the Commune any more?"
He seemed to hesitate, and she
said the words again. This time he
answered faintly and slowly:
"Yes, Elise. Pierre was right,
and you are right. Now that the
Commune has done these things, I
also feel that I cannot fight for the
Commune any more.'
She felt that she had conquered;
and, for a little, her trouble was
lifted from her mind. He would
not fight for the Commune any
more ;
and surely the Commune
must be over, before he could have
time to change his mind.
Yet it was hard for her to see
that, though he had promised this,
the fever still was there, and that
he could not forget the Commune
166
The Red Spell.
even when he knew it was dishon-
ored.
He still would talk of it, though
there were so many better things to
talk of.
"They are mad," he said; "there
seems no limit to their madness.
But they are brave. They do not
desert the Commune like Rochefort,
they do not slink away and hide
themselves like Felix Pyat. Though
they have disgraced the revolution,
they are not afraid to die for it.”
But Elise had little sympathy for
that sort of courage.
"Let them die, then," she an-
swered. "Having killed others who
had done no harm to them, it is
only just that they should die."
But still he dwelt on their one
virtue, saying:
"Yes, but they are brave, Elise.
Are they not brave seeing that if
they liked they might escape, and
yet they stay to die? They love
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167
the Commune, and they will not
survive it at least one honors them
for that."
In his excitement he made her
repeat the words after him, and say
that she, too, honored them for
that. It was but a little thing to
say, if only he would not follow
their example-and she had his
promise, and when she pressed him,
he repeated it.
So they sat and talked together
through the night, and almost till
the dawn. But they both were
weary-Elise especially was weary
-and at last Ernest Durand made
her lie down for awhile upon the
couch and sleep.
Her sleep was deep and dream-
less. For all the things that had
happened to her in the last four
days had worn out her strength,
and now that Ernest Durand's
promise to fight no longer for the
Commune had set her mind at rest,
168
The Red Spell.
and the strain upon her nerves was
lessened, the sleep she needed came
to her naturally and quickly.
Ernest Durand slept also, but his
sleep was shorter and more troubled.
The white dawn shimmering through
the window woke him, and the roar
of the batteries at Père La Chaise
and the Buttes Chaumont thun-
dered in his ears, and filled his brain
with an unending whirl of restless.
reverie.
"It is the death agony of the
Commune," he said to himself, and
shuddered.
The death agony of the Commune,
with all the high hopes that had
had their birth with it! And while
it was dying, he lay there within
earshot of its last struggle, letting
himself be nursed back to life
again! He went on, still harping
on the old refrain-the courage of
these men who would not cease to
fight for it until it ceased to live.
The Red Spell.
169
"Yes, they are brave, and they
would not survive the Commune.
One honors them-even Elise hon-
ors them-for that. And if one
honors them, then should not those
Communists be held to be dishon-
ored who have let themselves sur-
vive the Commune? And will it
not be said, and rightly said, that
these men who have burnt Paris,
and murdered the hostages at La
Roquette, and massacred the gens
d'armes in the Rue Haxo, had more
courage in the end than I had who
was ashamed to see the social revo-
lution polluted with those crimes?"
It was the red spell returning;
and in his weakness, with the fever
of his wound, it had gripped him
with a greater force than ever. He
sat upright in his bed, and
fingers clutched fiercely at
blankets.
his
the
I
"Never," he cried, "never.
have no right to fall away from a
170
The Red Spell.
good cause because bad deeds have
been committed in its name. The
cause claims me still. My life be-
longs to the Commune, and it shall
not be said of me that I was afraid
to pay the debt. Afraid to pay it?
But I wish to pay it. What is life
that I should wish to go on living
after liberty is dead?"
What was life? Might not life
with Elise mean happiness enough
to console him for the loss of a
cause that he had loved? Perhaps
it might-if only he had turned
back in time. But not now. It
was too late, and he had gone too
far. For if he lived now, it could
only be to be a prisoner in New
Caledonia, or Cazaune; and what
happiness could such a life contain
either for him or her?
"No, no. I can't stop now. I
must go on until the end."
As he spoke he had already got
up from his bed, and begun to dress
The Red Spell.
171
himself in silence, but with nervous
and impetuous haste.
He was still weak; he could only
keep his feet with difficulty. But
he drank a little cognac, and that
steadied him and gave him strength
while he put on his clothes and
fastened his red scarf of office over
his coat.
Elise was still sleeping on the
couch beside him. He stood be-
side her, looking into her pale tired
face, thinking of all the things that
might, and of the terrible awaken-
ing that would presently be hers.
She would wrong him in her
thoughts and call him cruel, when
she knew that she had found him
only to lose him again so soon-to
lose him after she had been so brave
for him. And for him too it was
cruel, though she would never know
it. Only the red spell drew him to
the battle that was already lost, and
he must follow.
172
The Red Spell.
He wanted to take her in his arms
and press her to his heart, but did
not dare. For that would be to
wake her, and she must not wake,
she must not know till afterwards.
He dared not even wait to write a
line telling her how his love for the
Commune had taken him away from
her. She had hated the Commune,
and she would not understand.
he knelt down beside her where she
lay, and softly touched her forehead
with his lips. and whispered a fare-
well below his breath.
"Good-bye, Elise !
But
Good-bye,
my sweetheart! I did not know
before how much I loved you, and
now that I do know I have to leave
you. The Commune that you hate
calls me, and I must not disobey."
CHAPTER XI.
How is the fight going? And
where do we fight now?"
Ernest Durand asked the ques-
tion of a man in a filthy blue blouse
stained with powder, who hurried
by him in the Rue des Etrangers,
and the answer was:
"The fight goes badly. All the
left bank is lost to us; and Villette
too is taken. Look there, and see
how its docks are burning. We
make our last stand now at the
Buttes Chaumont and at Père La
Chaise."
But the Buttes Chaumont were
far away, and Père La Chaise was
near at hand, so that it was to the
battle in the graveyard that Ernest
Durand turned his steps.
174
The Red Spell.
“At Père La Chaise you say?
Good. And you too are going
there? Good also. Let me lean on
your arm, my friend, for I am weak.”
The Belleville workman gave his
arm to the Member of the Council
of the Commune and helped him up
the hill, telling him as they went all
that he did not know already of the
fortunes of the struggle.
"So you have been wounded;
and you did not know. Ah! well,
our men have been fighting bravely.
Our barricades are taken, but we
build other barricades behind them.
Only the Versaillais are stronger
and drive us from every barricade
in turn. Still, they will have their
hardest fight of all at Père La
Chaise. For after Père La Chaise is
taken there is nowhere for us to fly
to, and if we do not beat them there
we die."
"And who leads the people?
Who is in command there?”
The Red Spell.
175
"My faith, I cannot tell you.
We have lost our leaders. Some of
them are dead and some of them
have run away to hide themselves.
But our people fight on without
their leaders. One does not need a
leader to fight for the Commune at
Père La Chaise."
Thus far they were in sympathy;
but not when Ernest Durand spoke
of those murders at Roquette, and
in the Rue Haxo, which had weighed
upon his mind, and made him say
that he would not fight for the
Commune any more. This only
brought a flood of rhetoric upon
him a loud profession of revolu-
tionary faith.
"It is the vengeance of the peo-
ple on the bourgeoisie. One does
not do these things in cold blood
you think that is true. Neither
does one make revolutions in cold
blood. But how shall you expect
us to act as men act in cold blood
176
The Red Spell.
when the Versaillais are butchering
our people in the streets? You
heard how they shot Millière-
kneeling to ask pardon of society
for what they called his crimes.
Well then, shall such things as that
be done, and shall we sit by with
our hands folded, and do nothing
to retaliate? I think not. No, no,
my friend. If it is thus that you
speak of the justice that the people
have done upon its enemies you
should come to Père La Chaise with
the Versaillais and not with us."
But there was no time for angry
argument, and Ernest Durand an-
swered:
"My friend, it is because I love
the Commune that I would not see
it stained with crime. ... But,
also because I love the Commune I
am coming now with you to offer
my life for it at Père La Chaise."
So the quarrel between them got
no further, and they walked on in
The Red Spell.
177
silence till they reached the place
where the last desperate survivors
of the revolution waited to give
battle to the soldiers of the line in
the burial ground upon the hill.
It is a weird place at any time—
this cemetery of Père La Chaise.
They call it the City of the Dead,
and from the distance you would
surely think it was a city rather
than a place of tombs. For you
find there none of the green grass,
the trim flower beds, the branching
trees that you are used to see in
other graveyards. But the monu-
ments and mortuary chapels are
built almost as high as houses, and
packed together like houses in ter-
races and rows, with avenues and
alleys paved with hard cobble stones
running like streets between them.
It seems, indeed, as though the
Parisians loved their city life so
well that they must needs have a
city to dwell in after death.
178
The Red Spell.
That is the appearance of the
cemetery of Père La Chaise to-day;
that is the appearance it has borne
for more than twenty years. But
when Ernest Durand and his rough.
comrade passed its barriers on that
Sunday afternoon in May, it was a
very different sight they saw there.
The Communists had made a
fortress and a camp of Père La
Chaise. They had entrenched them-
selves among the tombs, breaking
down the monuments to build their
barricades, and using the wreaths
of immortelles to make their
bivouac. A battery of six guns in
front of the chapel threw its shells
into the heart of Paris, a smaller
battery to the right answered the
big guns that pounded at it from
the Butte Mont-martre. Behind the
great gate that opens on the Rue
La Roquette was a solid barricade
protected by artillery, and other
barricades stood elsewhere, where-
The Red Spell.
179
ever it seemed to the defenders
that an attack was possible.
But that was only half the hor-
ror of the spectacle. For below
raged the flames of blazing Paris,
which all the efforts of the firemen
of the Versaillais had still been
unable to extinguish, and the roar
of cannon, the rattle of musketry,
and the savage shouts of the sol-
diers told of the death agony of the
Commune being played at the few
rallying points elsewhere that still
remained unvanquished; while near
at hand and drawing continually
nearer, amid the wrecks of shat-
tered houses, were seen the uni-
forms of Vinoy's regiments pre-
paring for the assault. And
through all the horror with the in-
evitable end of it apparent to every
eye, these men kept up their cour-
age, and laughed at danger and
blasphemed at death; and the
women let themselves be kissed
180
The Red Spell.
behind the tombstones, and the
wounded men threw wine upon
their wounds and drank to the
Commune with their comrades.
Pale from loss of blood and
trembling with his weakness, Ernest
Durand came down into this place
of tumult leaning on the Belleville
workman's arm. He passed the
great trench-the fosse commune-
where lay the bodies of the Arch-
bishop, the Abbé Duguerray, and
the other hostages slain at La
Roquette. A shudder shook him,
but he repressed it with an effort
and walked on. Some of the Com-
munists recognized him as he passed
and raised a cheer. Members of the
Council of the Commune were not
plentiful that day at Père La Chaise
and the advent of one of them was
matter for jubilant remark. Many
of those leaders were dead, and many
more of them had fallen away from
the cause because death seemed so
The Red Spell.
181
certain. So while Ernest Durand
looked round among the faces of
the crowd, and hardly discovered
any that he knew, his passage
through their midst was greeted
with loud cries of "Vive Durand."
And it chanced that as he came,
and even before the cry that wel-
comed him was raised, his name
was already on the lips of some of
them.
For in one of the corners of the
ground a knot of men were talking,
while they waited for the battle to
begin, and telling each other which
of their leaders had been false, and
which faithful to the Commune.
"Vimorel is dead, I know," one
said, "and so is Millière, and so is
Raoul Rigault. But does any one
know what has happened to Du-
rand?"
"Durand? He is dead also with-
out doubt," the other answered.
"You think that?"
182
The Red Spell.
"How should I think otherwise?
Durand is a brave man, and if he
were not dead then it is certain that
he would be with us here at Père
La Chaise."
It happened, too, that Suzanne
Touffroy was near the group, and
hearing the name spoken, she lis-
tened and looked up.
A woman joined in the talk-a
petroleuse-a dishevelled harridan
of Belleville, with grime on her face
and blood upon her hands.
"Durand is not dead," she said.
'He is a traitor."
"Durand a traitor? Who says
Durand is a traitor?"
I say so."
"How do you know he is a
traitor?"
"Because I was there at the
Hôtel de Ville, where we had gone
to ask Delescluze for a mitrailleuse
in order to defend Mont-martre,
and heard what the people said.
The Red Spell.
183
Durand quarrelled with Delescluze.
It was when the Committee of Pub-
lic Safety gave the order for the
burning of the Tuileries. Durand
opposed them.
an infamy!
He said that it was
A National Guard who
was at the door heard him say so.
They would have arrested Durand,
he told me, if he had not escaped.”
"Good. A pity they did not.
Death to all the bourgeoisie, say I,
and if Durand is bourgeois at heart,
death also to Durand,"
An idle thought—a grimly humor-
ous thought if any one had seen its
humor-to wish death to any man at
such an hour. But the listeners
only blasphemed hideously, until
at last, Suzanne struck into the
wrangle to defend Ernest Durand
from this charge of treachery, and
to tell how, to her knowledge, he
had only left the Hôtel de Ville to
lead the men of Saint Antoine to
the barricades. But almost before
184
The Red Spell.
she had begun to tell her story,
they heard the shouting in the other
quarters of the cemetery, and above
the cry of "Vive la Commune ”
caught the cry of "Vive Durand.”
The woman's fingers reached out
with a meaning gesture towards the
trigger of her musket. Suzanne
saw the action and sprang forward,
but one of the men anticipated her,
and with a rapid movement struck
the barrel up.
"Stay!" he cried. "If Durand
comes here then it is certain he is
no traitor."
'The other echoed, "True, those
are not traitors who come to fight
after the game is up at Père La
Chaise. Vive la Commune, my
friends, and Vive Durand."
So their mood changed in a mo-
ment, and enthusiasm succeeded to
distrust. As he advanced in their
direction they all joined in the cry
of "Vive Durand," and the men
The Red Spell.
185
ran forward and held out their
hands to welcome him, and the
woman, who but an instant since
had seemed to hunger for his life,
insisted on throwing her blood-
smeared arms about his neck and
kissing him.
Ernest Durand submitted to their
tumultuous greeting, as he had al-
ready submitted to other greetings
of the sort while he was passing
through the cemetery. But there
was no answering enthusiasm in his
manner, for his mood was a very
different mood from theirs.
The final butchery was very
close. The thunder of the guns
was louder; the rolling of the drums
was heard beneath, heralding the
attack that was to begin directly;
men caught up their rifles hurriedly,
and shouted contradictory orders.
to each other to rally here or there,
or to train the cannon this way or
that. But Ernest Durand stood
186
The Red Spell.
calm in the midst of the confusion,
with neither hatred nor passion in
his look-only a profound despair,
tempered by a profound disdain.
At first his thoughts being else-
where he had not even seen Su-
zanne, and she, for a moment re-
membering what their last parting
had been like, had a mind to pre-
tend that she did not
see him
either. But the thought flashed out
of her mind as quickly as it had en-
tered it, and she ran up to him, and
spoke.
"So you have come," she said.
"I always knew that you would
come. If only I thought that it
was for my sake that you came."
"I have come for the Commune's
sake, Suzanne," he answered.
Yes, yes, I know. You were
always a good Communist. That
is what made it so cruel that you
would not love me."
And then, in a softer tone, and
The Red Spell.
187
without any of the old accent of
reproach or blame.
"And she-she has let you come."
"She did not know," he said, and
then turned the subject quickly,
speaking of her own care for him
when he was wounded, and saying
that he owed his life to her-the
life that he had now come to Père
La Chaise to end.
But she cut short his speech,
laying her hands upon his shoulder,
and looking up into his eyes.
"You wish to thank me, Ernest?"
she said, and paused.
"Yes, of course, I wish to thank
you, Suzanne."
She looked at him steadfastly for
a moment.
"Then make haste and kiss me-
one real kiss, of your own accord,
before my time comes to die."
Why should he refuse. Surely
she had earned this, seeing that she
had saved his life. With the tumult
188
The Red Spell.
of the fight beginning round them,
he bent down and kissed her on the
lips.
For a second she clung to him
passionately, as though she would.
fasten love for her upon him. Then,
with a sudden movement, she broke
away from him again.
66
There," she cried.
"Now I go
to get myself killed before you are
sorry that you kissed me," and, be-
fore he could answer her she had
run down the hill out of his sight
towards the big barricade that
faced the entrance-gate.
Then for a space he was left alone
with his own thoughts. He trav-
eled back again in fancy to the
little room in the Rue des Etrang-
ers, and a sob swelled in his throat
when he thought of Elise and of
the happiness that might have been
theirs if the Commune had never
come between them. It was only a
short fortnight since she had said
The Red Spell.
189
to him in the Garden of the Tuiler-
ies that life was worth more than
politics, and that one must choose
between them. How could he say
that she was wrong when this was
where politics had led him to do
battle in this fearful place, with
none but ruffians and assassins,
whose crimes he loathed, for his
allies? Not that he could turn
back now. No, no. The Commune
itself was great and glorious, al-
though the Communists had shamed
it, and he had gone so far that he
must go on till the end. And yet,
and yet-
But as he mused, standing there
alone, a little group of Communists
suddenly ran by him, and one of
them observing that he carried no
weapon, and had nothing in his
hand except a light malacca cane,
broke into his reverie, calling
rudely:
"I see you are unarmed, Citizen
190
The Red Spell.
Durand. You do not go to fight the
Versaillais with your walking-
stick?"
With a stony impassive look in
his grey eyes, he answered,
"Yes, Citizen, it is as you say. I
am unarmed."
A dozen weapons of one sort or
another were held out to him by
eager hands. A dozen eager voices
cried :
66
Here, Citizen Durand! Take
this! Take this!
But Ernest Durand waved them
all back with a strange dignity be-
yond their understanding.
"Thank you all, Citizens," he
said, "but I have no need for arms
to-day. I do not fight for the Com-
mune any more. I only die for it."
The words amazed them, and
they stood round him speechless,
wondering at what he said. There
were some among them who hated
him for the saying, and feeling that
The Red Spell.
191
he scorned them would have been
glad to slay him where he stood.
But the spell of excitement fell
upon the rest, and roused them to a
wild enthusiasm for the devotion of
the man who, though he sympa-
thized with them no more by reason
of the things that they had done,
had come down to Père La Chaise
to die with them all the same.
They burst into a sudden cheer:
"Vive Durand, vive Durand!
they bellowed madly, tossing their
caps into the air and pushing right
and left to find a place for him in
the very forefront of the fight.
And the others heard the cheer
and caught it up, they knew not why,
so that even above the cry of “Vive
la Commune," the cry of "Vive.
Durand, vive Durand," passed all
along their line of battle as they saw
him with the blood-stained bandage.
on his brow and his red scarf girt
about his sober suit of black, stand-
192
The Red Spell.
ing erect with folded arms upon the
barricade, and waiting for his bullet
in the place where bullets hailed the
thickest.
But down below, in the little room
in the Rue des Etrangers, Elise
Rollin still slept on. The tumult
of the battle did not wake her, and
the sun had set, and the last Com-
munist defense had yielded, and the
Commune itself had become
memory before they came and told
her how at last the Red Spell had
drawn her lover to his death.
a
THE END.

8 1 2 G 871
OR

wils
UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA
812G871 OR
Gribble, Francis Henry, 1862-1946.
The red spell, by Francis Gribble; with
3 1951 002 014 837 G
WILSON
ANNEX
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