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<h2> VI. THE SEVEN HUNDRED PYROTISTS </h2>
<p>The seven hundred Pyrotists inspired the public with an increasing
aversion. Every day two or three of them were beaten to death in the
streets. One of them was publicly whipped, another thrown into the river,
a third tarred and feathered and led through a laughing crowd, a fourth
had his nose cut off by a captain of dragoons. They did not dare to show
themselves at their clubs, at tennis, or at the races; they put on a
disguise when they went to the Stock Exchange. In these circumstances the
Prince des Boscenos thought it urgent to curb their audacity and repress
their insolence. For this purpose he joined with Count Clena, M. de La
Trumelle, Viscount Olive, and M. Bigourd in founding a great anti-Pyrotist
association to which citizens in hundreds of thousands, soldiers in
companies, regiments, brigades, divisions, and army corps, towns,
districts, and provinces, all gave their adhesion.</p>
<p>About this time the Minister of War happening to visit one day his Chief
of Staff, saw with surprise that the large room where General Panther
worked, which was formerly quite bare, had now along each wall from floor
to ceiling in sets of deep pigeon-holes, triple and quadruple rows of
paper bundles of every as form and colour. These sudden and monstrous
records had in a few days reached the dimensions of a pile of archives
such as it takes centuries to accumulate.</p>
<p>"What is this?" asked the astonished minister.</p>
<p>"Proofs against Pyrot," answered General Panther with patriotic
satisfaction. "We had not got them when we convicted him, but we have
plenty of them now."</p>
<p>The door was open, and Greatauk saw coming up the stair-case a long file
of porters who were unloading heavy bales of papers in the hall, and he
saw the lift slowly rising heavily loaded with paper packets.</p>
<p>"What are those others?" said he.</p>
<p>"They are fresh proofs against Pyrot that are now reaching us," said
Panther. "I have asked for them in every county of Penguinia, in every
Staff Office and in every Court in Europe. I have ordered them in every
town in America and in Australia, and in every factory in Africa, and I am
expecting bales of them from Bremen and a ship-load from Melbourne." And
Panther turned towards the Minister of War the tranquil and radiant look
of a hero. However, Greatauk, his eye-glass in his eye, was looking at the
formidable pile of papers with less satisfaction than uneasiness.</p>
<p>"Very good," said he, "very good! but I am afraid that this Pyrot business
may lose its beautiful simplicity. It was limpid; like a rock-crystal its
value lay in its transparency. You could have searched it in vain with a
magnifying-glass for a straw, a bend, a blot, for the least fault. When it
left my hands it was as pure as the light. Indeed it was the light. I give
you a pearl and you make a mountain out of it. To tell you the truth I am
afraid that by wishing to do too well you have done less well. Proofs! of
course it is good to have proofs, but perhaps it is better to have none at
all. I have already told you, Panther, there is only one irrefutable
proof, the confession of the guilty person (or if the innocent what
matter!). The Pyrot affair, as I arranged it, left no room for criticism;
there was no spot where it could be touched. It defied assault. It was
invulnerable because it was invisible. Now it gives an enormous handle for
discussion. I advise you, Panther, to use your paper packets with great
reserve. I should be particularly grateful if you would be more sparing of
your communications to journalists. You speak well, but you say too much.
Tell me, Panther, are there any forged documents among these?"</p>
<p>"There are some adapted ones."</p>
<p>"That is what I meant. There are some adapted ones. So much the better. As
proofs, forged documents, in general, are better than genuine ones, first
of all because they have been expressly made to suit the needs of the
case, to order and measure, and therefore they are fitting and exact. They
are also preferable because they carry the mind into an ideal world and
turn it aside from the reality which, alas! in this world is never without
some alloy. . . . Nevertheless, I think I should have preferred, Panther,
that we had no proofs at all."</p>
<p>The first act of the Anti-Pyrotist Association was to ask the Government
immediately to summon the seven hundred Pyrotists and their accomplices
before the High Court of Justice as guilty of high treason. Prince des
Boscenos was charged to speak on behalf of the Association and presented
himself before the Council which had assembled to hear him. He expressed a
hope that the vigilance and firmness of the Government would rise to the
height of the occasion. He shook hands with each of the ministers and as
he passed General Greatauk he whispered in his ear:</p>
<p>"Behave properly, you ruffian, or I will publish the Maloury dossier!"</p>
<p>Some days later by a unanimous vote of both Houses, on a motion proposed
by the Government, the Anti-Pyrotist Association was granted a charter
recognising it as beneficial to the public interest.</p>
<p>The Association immediately sent a deputation to Chitterlings Castle in
Porpoisia, where Crucho was eating the bitter bread of exile, to assure
the prince of the love and devotion of the Anti-Pyrotist members.</p>
<p>However, the Pyrotists grew in numbers, and now counted ten thousand. They
had their regular cafes on the boulevards. The patriots had theirs also,
richer and bigger, and every evening glasses of beer, saucers,
match-stands, jugs, chairs, and tables were hurled from one to the other.
Mirrors were smashed to bits, and the police ended the struggles by
impartially trampling the combatants of both parties under their
hob-nailed shoes.</p>
<p>On one of these glorious nights, as Prince des Boscenos was leaving a
fashionable cafe in the company of some patriots, M. de La Trumelle
pointed out to him a little, bearded man with glasses, hatless, and having
only one sleeve to his coat, who was painfully dragging himself along the
rubbish-strewn pavement.</p>
<p>"Look!" said he, "there is Colomban!"</p>
<p>The prince had gentleness as well as strength; he was exceedingly mild;
but at the name of Colomban his blood boiled. He rushed at the little
spectacled man, and knocked him down with one blow of his fist on the
nose.</p>
<p>M. de La Trumelle then perceived that, misled by an undeserved
resemblance, he had mistaken for Colomban, M. Bazile, a retired lawyer,
the secretary of the Anti-pyrotist Association, and an ardent and generous
patriot. Prince des Boscenos was one of those antique souls who never
bend. However, he knew how to recognise his faults.</p>
<p>"M. Bazile," said he, raising his hat, "if I have touched your face with
my hand you will excuse me and you will understand me, you will approve of
me, nay, you will compliment me, you will congratulate me and felicitate
me, when you know the cause of that act. I took you for Colomban."</p>
<p>M. Bazile, wiping his bleeding nostrils with his handkerchief and
displaying an elbow laid bare by the absence of his sleeve:</p>
<p>"No, sir," answered he drily, "I shall not felicitate you, I shall not
congratulate you, I shall not compliment you, for your action was, at the
very least, superfluous; it was, I will even say, supererogatory. Already
this evening I have been three times mistaken for Colomban and received a
sufficient amount of the treatment he deserves. The patriots have knocked
in my ribs and broken my back, and, sir, I was of opinion that that was
enough."</p>
<p>Scarcely had he finished this speech than a band of Pyrotists appeared,
and misled in their turn by that insidious resemblance, they believed that
the patriots were killing Colomban. They fell on Prince des Boscenos and
his companions with loaded canes and leather thongs, and left them for
dead. Then seizing Bazile they carried him in triumph, and in spite of his
protests, along the boulevards, amid cries of: "Hurrah for Colomban!
Hurrah for Pyrot!" At last the police, who had been sent after them,
attacked and defeated them and dragged them ignominiously to the station,
where Bazile, under the name of Colomban, was trampled on by an
innumerable quantity of thick, hob-nailed shoes.</p>
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