France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
Hitherto the stream of revolution had met with no check. Obstacles
apparently the strongest, the King, the nobles, had crumbled and sunk
before it, almost without a struggle; it remained to be seen whether
the third and last of the governing powers, the Church, would fare
better. Clearly, if Froment were right, and faith must be met by
faith, and bigotry of one kind be opposed by bigotry of another kind,
here in the valley of the Rhone, where the Church still kept its hold,
lay the materials nearest to the enthusiast's hand. In that case--and
with this in my mind, I took my first long look at the city, and the
wide low plain that lay beyond it, bathed in the sunset light--in that
case, from this spot might fly a torch to kindle France! Hence might
start within the next few days a conflagration as wide as the land;
that taken up, and roaring ever higher and higher through all La
Vendée, and Brittany, and the Côtes du Nord, might swiftly ring round
Paris with a circle of flame.
Once get it fairly alight. But there lay the doubt; and I looked
again, and looked with eager curiosity, at this city from which so
much was expected; this far-stretching city of flat roofs and white
houses, trending gently down from the last spurs of the Cevennes to
the Rhone plain. North of it, in the outskirts rose three low hills,
the midmost crowned with a tower, the eastern-most casting a shadow
almost to the distant river; and from these, eastward and southward,
the city sloped. And these hills, and the roads near us, and the plain
already verdant, and the great workshops that here and there rose in
the faubourgs, all, as we approached, seemed to teem with life and
people; with people coming and going, alone and in groups, sauntering
beyond the walls for pleasure, or hastening on business.
Of these, I noticed all wore a badge of some kind; many the tricolour,
but more a red ribbon, a red tuft, a red cockade--emblems at sight of
which my companions' faces grew darker, and ever darker. Another thing
characteristic of the place, the tinkling of many bells, calling to
vespers--though I found the sound fall pleasantly on the evening
air--was as little to their taste. They growled together, and
increased their pace; the result of which was that insensibly I fell
to the rear. As we entered the streets, the traffic that met us, and
the keenness with which I looked about me, increased the distance
between us; presently, a long line of carts and a company of National
Guards intervening, I found myself riding alone, a hundred paces
behind them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account