French fiction -- Translations into English; Paris (France) -- Fiction
The art of building barricades was also--you never would suspect
it!--very ardently and conscientiously studied. This special branch
of the science of fortification reckoned more than one Vauban and
Gribeauval among its numbers. “Professor of barricading,” was a title
honored at the Cafe de Seville, and one that they would willingly have
had engraved upon their visiting-cards. Observe that the instruction was
only theoretical; doubtless out of respect for the policemen, they could
not give entirely practical lessons to the future rioters who formed the
ground-work of the business. The master or doctor of civil war could not
go out with them, for instance, and practise in the Rue Drouot. But he
had one resource, one way of getting out of it; namely, dominoes.
No! you never would believe what a revolutionary appearance these
inoffensive mutton-bones took on under the seditious hands of the
habitues of the Cafe de Seville. These miniature pavements simulated
upon the marble table the subjugation of the most complicated of
barricades, with all sorts of bastions, redans, and counterscarps. It
was something after the fashion of the small models of war-ships that
one sees in marine museums. Any one, not in the secret, would have
supposed that the “beards” simply played dominoes. Not at all! They were
pursuing a course of technical insurrection. When they roared at the top
of their lungs “Five on all sides!” certain players seemed to order
a general discharge, and they had a way of saying, “I can not!” which
evidently expressed the despair of a combatant who has burned his
last cartridge. A “beard” in glasses and a stovepipe hat, who had been
refused in his youth at the Ecole Polytechnique, was frightful in the
rapidity and mathematical precision with which he added up in three
minutes his barricade of dominoes. When this man “blocked the six,”
you were transported in imagination to the Rue Transnonain, or to the
Cloitre St. Merry. It was terrible!
As to foreign politics, or the remodelling of the map of Europe, it was,
properly speaking, only sport and recreation to the “beards.” It added
interest to the game, that was all. Is it not agreeable, when you are
preparing a discard, at the decisive moment, with one hundred at piquet,
which gives you ‘quinte’ or ‘quatorze’, to deliver unhappy Poland; and
when one has the satisfaction to score a king and take every trick, what
does it cost to let the Russians enter Constantinople?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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