"Well, history, or the Pantheon of history, as you please; but Danton is irrelevant here."
"Permit me, Mr. Chairman," said Sallenauve, "though the question does not seem to have much purpose on the bearing of this meeting, I cannot forego the opportunity thus given me to give proof of the impartiality and independence with which I can judge that great memory, the fame of which still echoes in this town."
"Hear! hear!" cried the a.s.sembly, almost unanimously.
"I am firmly convinced," resumed Sallenauve, "that if Danton had been born in a calm and peaceful epoch like our own, he would have shown himself, what in fact he was, a good father, a good husband, a warm and faithful friend, a man of kindly temper, who, by the force of his great talents, would have risen to some eminent place in the State and in society."
"Yes, yes! bravo! very good!"
"Born, on the contrary, in troublesome times, and amid the storm of unchained pa.s.sions, Danton was better const.i.tuted than others to kindle the flame of that atmosphere of fire. Danton was the torch that fired; his scarlet glare lent itself only too readily to scenes of blood and horror which I must not recall. But, they said, the national independence was at stake, traitors and dissemblers must be awed,--in a word, a cruel and awful sacrifice was necessary for the public weal.
Messieurs, I do not accept that theory. To kill, without the necessity demonstrated a score of times of legitimate defence, to kill women, children, prisoners, unarmed men, was a crime,--a crime, look at it how you will, that was execrable; those who ordered it, those who consented to it, those who executed it are, to my mind, deserving of the same reprobation."
I wish I could give you an idea, madame, of the tone and expression of Sallenauve as he uttered this anathema. You know how his face is transfigured when an ardent thought comes into his mind. The a.s.semblage was mute and gloomy. Evidently he had wounded their sensibilities; but, under the curb of his powerful hand, it dared not throw up its head.
"But," he continued, "to all consummated and irreparable crimes there are two issues,--repentance and expiation. His repentance Danton did not utter,--he was too proud a man,--but he _acted_ it. He was the first, to the sound of that axe falling without pity and without respite,--the first, at the risk of his own head being the next victim,--to call for a "committee of mercy." It was the sure, the infallible means of bringing him to expiation; and you all know whether, when that day of expiation came, he quailed before it. Pa.s.sing through death,--won by his courageous effort to stop the effusion of blood,--it may be truly said that the face and the memory of Danton have washed off the b.l.o.o.d.y stain which September put upon them. Committed, at the age of thirty-five, to the judgment of posterity, Danton has left us the memory of a great intellect, a strong and powerful character, n.o.ble private qualities, more than one generous action,--all derived from his own being; whereas the b.l.o.o.d.y errors he committed were the contagion of his epoch. In a word, with men of his quality, unjust would be the justice which does not temper itself with mercy. And here, messieurs, you have in your midst--better than you, better than I, better than all orators and historians--a woman who has weighed and understood Danton, and who says to the pitiless, with the impulse of her charity, "He has gone to G.o.d; let us pray for him.""
The trap thus avoided by this happy allusion to Mother Marie-des-Anges, and the a.s.sembly evidently satisfied, it might be supposed that the candidate had come to the end of his baiting. The colonel was even preparing to pa.s.s to the vote, when several electors sprang up, declaring that two important explanations were still required from the candidate. He had said that he should ever be found an obstacle to all attempts of the royal power to subvert our inst.i.tutions. What did he mean by such resistance? Was it armed resistance, the resistance of riots and barricades?
"Barricades," replied Sallenauve, "have nearly always seemed to me machines which turned of themselves and crushed the men who raised them.
We must believe that in the nature of riots there is something which serves the interests of the government, for I have invariably heard the police accused of inciting them. My resistance, that which I spoke of, will ever be a legal resistance, pursued by legal means, by the press, by the tribune, and with patience,--that great force granted to the oppressed and to the vanquished."
If you knew Latin, madame, I should say to you, _In cauda venenum_; which means, "In the tail of the serpent is its venom,"--a remark of antiquity which modern science does not admit. Monsieur de l"Estorade was not mistaken; Sallenauve"s private life was destined to be ransacked, and, no doubt under the inspiration of the virtuous Maxime de Trailles, the second question put to our friend was about the handsome Italian woman said to be _hidden_ by him in his house in Paris.
Sallenauve showed no embarra.s.sment at being thus interpellated. He merely asked whether the a.s.sembly would think proper to spend its time in listening to a romantic story in which there was no scandal.
But here comes Sallenauve himself; he tells me that the electoral college is formed in a manner that leaves little doubt of his election.
I leave my pen to him, to tell you the romantic tale, already, I believe, interrupted on several occasions. He will close this letter.
XVIII. CHARLES DE SALLENAUVE TO THE COMTESSE DE L"ESTORADE
7 P.M.
Madame,--The rather abrupt manner in which I parted from you and Monsieur de l"Estorade the evening of our visit to Armand"s school, has been explained to you by the preoccupations of all sorts to which at that moment I was a victim. Marie-Gaston tells me that he has kept you informed of the subsequent events.
I acknowledge that in the restless and agitated state of mind in which I then was, the sort of belief which Monsieur de l"Estorade appeared to give to the scandal which he mentioned caused me great displeasure and some surprise. How, thought I, is it possible that a man of Monsieur de l"Estorade"s morality and intellect can _a priori_ suppose me capable of such disorder, when he sees me anxious to give to my life all the weight and consideration which the respect of others alone can bestow? Only a few moments before this painful conversation I had been on the point of making you a confidence which would, I presume, have protected me against the unfortunate impression which Monsieur de l"Estorade conveyed to your mind. As for Monsieur de l"Estorade himself, I was, I confess, so annoyed at seeing the careless manner in which he made himself the echo of a calumny against which I felt he ought rather to have defended me that I did not _deign_ to make any explanation to him. I now withdraw that word, but it was then the true expression of a displeasure keenly felt.
In the course of my electoral contest, I have been obliged to make public the justification I did not make to you; and I have had the satisfaction of finding that men in ma.s.ses are more capable than individuals of understanding generous impulses and of distinguishing the honest language of truth. Here are the facts which I related, but more briefly and with less detail, to my electors.
A few months before my departure from Rome, I was in a cafe frequented by the pupils of the Academy, when an Italian musician, named Benedetto, came in, as he usually did every evening. Nominally he was a musician and a tolerable one; but we had been warned that he was also a spy of the Roman police. However that might be, he was very amusing; and as we cared nothing for the police, we not only endured but we encouraged his visits,--which was not hard to do in view of his pa.s.sion for _poncio spongato_ and _spuma di latte_.
On his entrance one evening, a member of our party asked him who was the woman with whom he had met him that morning.
"My wife, signore," answered the Italian.
"Yours, Benedetto!--you the husband of such a beauty!"
"Si, signore."
"Nonsense! you are ugly and drunken, and people say you are police spy; but she, on the contrary, is as handsome as Diana the huntress."
"I charmed her with my talent; she adores me."
"Well, if she is your wife, make her pose to our friend here, Dorlange, who wants a model for his Pandora. He can"t get a finer one."
"That can be managed," replied the Italian.
The next day I was in my studio in company with several young painters and sculptors when Benedetto came in accompanied by a woman of rare beauty, whom I need not describe, for you have seen her, madame, at my house. A joyous hurrah greeted the Italian, who said to me,--
"_Ecco la Pandora_! Hey! what do you think of her?"
"Marvellously beautiful; but would she pose?"
"Pooh!" exclaimed Benedetto, with an air which seemed to say: "I"d like to see her refuse."
"But," I remarked, "she would cost too much, a model of her beauty."
"No; you need only make my bust--just a plaster cast--and give it to her."
"Very good," I said. Then I told my friends to go and leave us alone together.
n.o.body minded me. Judging the wife by the husband, the eager young fellows pressed round her; while she, wounded and angered by the audacity of their eyes, looked like a caged panther irritated by peasants at a fair.
Going up to her and pulling her aside, Benedetto told her in Italian that I wanted to copy her from head to foot, and she must then and there take off her clothes. The woman gave him one withering look, and made for the door. Benedetto rushed forward to prevent her; while my comrades, for the honor of the studio, endeavored to bar his way.
Then began an argument between the wife and the husband; but, as I saw that Benedetto sustained his part of it with great brutality, I was angry, and, having a pretty vigorous arm, I pushed him aside, and took the wife, who was trembling all over, to the door. She said, in Italian, a few words of thanks, and disappeared instantly.
Returning to Benedetto, who was gesticulating furiously, I told him to leave the studio, that his conduct was infamous, and if I heard of his ill-treating his wife I would have him punished.
"_Debole_!" (idiot!) he replied, shrugging his shoulders, and departing amid derisive cheers.
Several days pa.s.sed, and no signs of Benedetto. By the end of a week he was forgotten. Three days before my departure from Rome his wife entered my studio.
"You are leaving Rome," she said, "and I want you to take me with you."
"Take you with me!--but your husband?"
"Dead," she answered tranquilly.
A thought crossed my mind.
"Did you kill him?" I said.
She made an affirmative sign, adding, "But I meant to die too."
"How was it?" I asked.