"evariste, you are mine, I will not let you go; I will not give you back your freedom."
She was speaking in the language of sacrifice. He felt it; she felt it herself.
"Will you be able, elodie, one day to bear witness that I lived faithful to my duty, that my heart was upright and my soul unsullied, that I knew no pa.s.sion but the public good; that I was born to feel and love? Will you say: "He did his duty"? But no! You will not say it and I do not ask you to say it. Perish my memory! My glory is in my own heart; shame beleaguers me about. If you love me, never speak my name; eternal silence is best."
A child of eight or nine, trundling its hoop, ran just then between Gamelin"s legs.
He lifted the boy suddenly in his arms:
"Child, you will grow up free, happy, and you will owe it to the infamous Gamelin. I am ferocious, that you may be happy. I am cruel, that you may be kind; I am pitiless, that to-morrow all Frenchmen may embrace with tears of joy."
He pressed the child to his breast.
"Little one, when you are a man, you will owe your happiness, your innocence to me; and, if ever you hear my name uttered, you will execrate it."
Then he put down the child, which ran away in terror to cling to its mother"s skirts, who had hurried up to the rescue. The young mother, who was pretty and charming in her aristocratic grace, with her gown of white lawn, carried off the boy with a haughty look.
Gamelin turned his eyes on elodie:
"I have held the child in my arms; perhaps I shall send the mother to the guillotine,"--and he walked away with long strides under the ordered trees.
elodie stood a moment motionless, her eyes fixed on the ground. Then, suddenly, she darted after her lover, and frenzied, dishevelled, like a Maenad, she gripped him as if to tear him in pieces and cried in a voice choked with blood and tears:
"Well, then! me too, my beloved, send me to the guillotine; me too, lay me under the knife!"
And, at the thought of the knife at her neck, all her flesh melted in an ecstasy of horror and voluptuous transport.
XXVI
The sun of Thermidor was setting in a blood-red sky, while evariste wandered, gloomy and careworn, in the Marbeuf gardens, now a National park frequented by the Parisian idlers. There were stalls for the sale of lemonade and ices; wooden horses and shooting-galleries were provided for the younger patriots. Under a tree, a little Savoyard in rags, with a black cap on his head, was making a marmot dance to the shrill notes of his hurdy-gurdy. A man, still young, slim-waisted, wearing a blue coat and his hair powdered, with a big dog at his heels, stopped to listen to the rustic music. evariste recognized Robespierre. He found him paler, thinner, his face harder and drawn in folds of suffering. He thought to himself:
"What fatigues, how many griefs have left their imprint on his brow! How grievous a thing it is to work for the happiness of mankind! What are his thoughts at this moment? Does the sound of this mountain music perhaps distract him from the cares of government? Is he thinking that he has made a pact with Death and that the hour of reckoning is coming close? Is he dreaming of a triumphant return to the Committee of Public Safety, from which he withdrew, weary of being held in check, with Couthon and Saint-Just, by a seditious majority? Behind that impenetrable countenance what hopes are seething or what fears?"
But Maximilien smiled at the lad, in a gentle, kind voice asked him several questions about his native valley, the humble home and parents the poor child had left behind, tossed him a small piece of silver and resumed his stroll. After taking a few steps, he turned round again to call his dog; sniffing at the marmot, it was showing its teeth at the little creature that bristled up in defiance.
"To heel, Brount!" he called, "to heel!"--and he plunged among the dark trees.
Gamelin, out of respect, did not interrupt his lonely walk; but, as he gazed after the slender form disappearing in the darkness, he mentally addressed his hero in these impa.s.sioned words:
"I have seen thy sadness, Maximilien; I have understood thy thought. Thy melancholy, thy fatigue, even the look of fear that stamps thy face, everything says: "Let the reign of terror end and that of fraternity begin! Frenchmen, be united, be virtuous, be good and kind. Love ye one another...." Well then, I will second your designs; that you, in your wisdom and goodness, may be able to put an end to our civil discord, to our fratricidal hate, turn the headsman into a gardener who will henceforth cut off only the heads of cabbages and lettuces. I will pave the way with my colleagues of the Tribunal that must lead to clemency by exterminating conspirators and traitors. We will redouble our vigilance and our severity. No culprit shall escape us. And when the head of the last enemy of the Republic shall have fallen under the knife, then it will be given thee to be merciful without committing a crime, then thou canst inaugurate the reign of innocence and virtue in all the land, oh!
father of thy country!"
The Incorruptible was already almost out of sight. Two men in round hats and nankeen breeches, one of whom, a tall, lean man of a wild, unkempt aspect, had a blur on one eye and resembled Tallien, met him at the corner of an avenue, looked at him askance and pa.s.sed on, pretending not to recognize him. When they had gone far enough to be out of hearing, they muttered under their breath:
"So there he goes, the King, the Pope, the G.o.d. For he is G.o.d; and Catherine Theot is his prophetess."
"Dictator, traitor, tyrant! the race of Brutus is not extinct."
"Tremble, malefactor! the Tarpeian rock is near the Capitol!"
The dog Brount ran towards the pair. They said no more and quickened their pace.
XXVII
Robespierre, awake! The hour is come, time presses,... soon it will be too late....
At last, on the 8 Thermidor, in the Convention, the Incorruptible rises, he is going to speak. Sun of the 31st May, is this to be a second day-spring? Gamelin waits and hopes. His mind is made up then!
Robespierre is to drag from the benches they dishonour these legislators more guilty than the federalists, more dangerous than Danton.... No! not yet. "I cannot," he says, "resolve to clear away entirely the veil that hides this mystery of iniquity."
It is mere summer lightning that flashes harmlessly and without striking any one of the conspirators, terrifies all. Sixty of them at least for a fortnight had not dared sleep in their beds. Marat"s way was to denounce traitors by their name, to point the finger of accusation at conspirators. The Incorruptible hesitates, and from that moment he is the accused....
That evening at the Jacobins, the hall is filled to suffocation, the corridors, the courtyard are crowded.
They are all there, loud-voiced friends and silent enemies. Robespierre reads them the speech the Convention had heard in affrighted silence, and the Jacobins greet it with excited applause.
"It is my dying testament," declares the orator. "You will see me drain the hemlock undismayed."
"I will drink it with you," answered David.
"All, we all will!" shout the Jacobins, and separate without deciding anything.
evariste, while the death of _The Just_ was preparing, slept the sleep of the Disciples in the garden of Gethsemane. Next day, he attended the Tribunal where two sections were sitting. That on which he served was trying twenty-one persons implicated in the conspiracy of the Lazare prison. The case was still proceeding when the tidings arrived:
"The Convention, after a six-hours" session, has decreed Maximilien Robespierre accused,--with him Couthon and Saint-Just; add Augustin Robespierre, and Lebas, who have demanded to share the lot of the accused. The five outlaws stand at the bar of the house."
News is brought that the President of the Section sitting in the next court, the _citoyen_ Dumas, has been arrested on the bench, but that the case goes on. Drums can be heard beating the alarm, and the tocsin peals from the churches.
evariste is still in his place when he is handed an order from the Commune to proceed to the Hotel de Ville to sit in the General Council.
To the sound of the rolling drums and clanging church bells, he and his colleagues record their verdict; then he hurries home to embrace his mother and s.n.a.t.c.h up his scarf of office. The Place de Thionville is deserted. The Section is afraid to declare either for or against the Convention. Wayfarers creep along under the walls, slip down side-streets, sneak indoors. The call of the tocsin and alarm-drums is answered by the noise of barring shutters and bolting doors. The _citoyen_ Dupont senior has secreted himself in his shop; Remacle the porter is barricaded in his lodge. Little Josephine holds Mouton tremblingly in her arms. The widow Gamelin bemoans the dearness of victuals, cause of all the trouble. At the foot of the stairs evariste encounters elodie; she is panting for breath and her black locks are plastered on her hot cheek.
"I have been to look for you at the Tribunal; but you had just left.
Where are you going?"
"To the Hotel de Ville."
"Don"t go there! It would be your ruin; Hanriot is arrested ... the Sections will not stir. The _Section des Piques_, Robespierre"s Section, will do nothing, I know it for a fact; my father belongs to it. If you go to the Hotel de Ville, you are throwing away your life for nothing."
"You wish me to be a coward?"
"No! the brave thing is to be faithful to the Convention and to obey the Law."