"I will find ways and means for thy escape. At nightfall, as the clock strikes nine, a boat shall wait thee on the river before this house; the boatman will guide thee to a retreat where thou mayst rest in safety till the Reign of Terror, which nears its close, be past. Think no more of the sensual love that lured, and wellnigh lost thee. It betrayed, and would have destroyed. Thou wilt regain thy land in safety,--long years yet spared to thee to muse over the past, and to redeem it. For thy future, be thy dream thy guide, and thy tears thy baptism."
The Englishman obeyed the injunctions of the letter, and found their truth.
CHAPTER 7.X.
Quid mirare meas tot in uno corpore formas?
Propert.
(Why wonder that I have so many forms in a single body?)
Zanoni to Mejnour.
"She is in one of their prisons,--their inexorable prisons. It is Robespierre"s order,--I have tracked the cause to Glyndon. This, then, made that terrible connection between their fates which I could not unravel, but which (till severed as it now is) wrapped Glyndon himself in the same cloud that concealed her. In prison,--in prison!--it is the gate of the grave! Her trial, and the inevitable execution that follows such trial, is the third day from this. The tyrant has fixed all his schemes of slaughter for the 10th of Thermidor. While the deaths of the unoffending strike awe to the city, his satellites are to ma.s.sacre his foes. There is but one hope left,--that the Power which now dooms the doomer, may render me an instrument to expedite his fall. But two days left,--two days! In all my wealth of time I see but two days; all beyond,--darkness, solitude. I may save her yet. The tyrant shall fall the day before that which he has set apart for slaughter! For the first time I mix among the broils and stratagems of men, and my mind leaps up from my despair, armed and eager for the contest."
A crowd had gathered round the Rue St. Honore; a young man was just arrested by the order of Robespierre. He was known to be in the service of Tallien, that hostile leader in the Convention, whom the tyrant had hitherto trembled to attack. This incident had therefore produced a greater excitement than a circ.u.mstance so customary as an arrest in the Reign of Terror might be supposed to create. Amongst the crowd were many friends of Tallien, many foes to the tyrant, many weary of beholding the tiger dragging victim after victim to its den. Hoa.r.s.e, foreboding murmurs were heard; fierce eyes glared upon the officers as they seized their prisoner; and though they did not yet dare openly to resist, those in the rear pressed on those behind, and enc.u.mbered the path of the captive and his captors. The young man struggled hard for escape, and, by a violent effort, at last wrenched himself from the grasp. The crowd made way, and closed round to protect him, as he dived and darted through their ranks; but suddenly the trampling of horses was heard at hand,--the savage Henriot and his troop were bearing down upon the mob.
The crowd gave way in alarm, and the prisoner was again seized by one of the partisans of the Dictator. At that moment a voice whispered the prisoner, "Thou hast a letter which, if found on thee, ruins thy last hope. Give it to me! I will bear it to Tallien." The prisoner turned in amaze, read something that encouraged him in the eyes of the stranger who thus accosted him. The troop were now on the spot; the Jacobin who had seized the prisoner released hold of him for a moment to escape the hoofs of the horses: in that moment the opportunity was found,--the stranger had disappeared.
At the house of Tallien the princ.i.p.al foes of the tyrant were a.s.sembled.
Common danger made common fellowship. All factions laid aside their feuds for the hour to unite against the formidable man who was marching over all factions to his gory throne. There was bold Lecointre, the declared enemy; there, creeping Barrere, who would reconcile all extremes, the hero of the cowards; Barras, calm and collected; Collet d"Herbois, breathing wrath and vengeance, and seeing not that the crimes of Robespierre alone sheltered his own.
The council was agitated and irresolute. The awe which the uniform success and the prodigious energy of Robespierre excited still held the greater part under its control. Tallien, whom the tyrant most feared, and who alone could give head and substance and direction to so many contradictory pa.s.sions, was too sullied by the memory of his own cruelties not to feel embarra.s.sed by his position as the champion of mercy. "It is true," he said, after an animating harangue from Lecointre, "that the Usurper menaces us all. But he is still so beloved by his mobs,--still so supported by his Jacobins: better delay open hostilities till the hour is more ripe. To attempt and not succeed is to give us, bound hand and foot, to the guillotine. Every day his power must decline. Procrastination is our best ally--" While yet speaking, and while yet producing the effect of water on the fire, it was announced that a stranger demanded to see him instantly on business that brooked no delay.
"I am not at leisure," said the orator, impatiently. The servant placed a note on the table. Tallien opened it, and found these words in pencil, "From the prison of Teresa de Fontenai." He turned pale, started up, and hastened to the anteroom, where he beheld a face entirely strange to him.
"Hope of France!" said the visitor to him, and the very sound of his voice went straight to the heart,--"your servant is arrested in the streets. I have saved your life, and that of your wife who will be. I bring to you this letter from Teresa de Fontenai."
Tallien, with a trembling hand, opened the letter, and read,--
"Am I forever to implore you in vain? Again and again I say, "Lose not an hour if you value my life and your own." My trial and death are fixed the third day from this,--the 10th Thermidor. Strike while it is yet time,--strike the monster!--you have two days yet. If you fail,--if you procrastinate,--see me for the last time as I pa.s.s your windows to the guillotine!"
"Her trial will give proof against you," said the stranger. "Her death is the herald of your own. Fear not the populace,--the populace would have rescued your servant. Fear not Robespierre,--he gives himself to your hands. To-morrow he comes to the Convention,--to-morrow you must cast the last throw for his head or your own."
"To-morrow he comes to the Convention! And who are you that know so well what is concealed from me?"
"A man like you, who would save the woman he loves."
Before Tallien could recover his surprise, the visitor was gone.
Back went the Avenger to his conclave an altered man. "I have heard tidings,--no matter what," he cried,--"that have changed my purpose.
On the 10th we are destined to the guillotine. I revoke my counsel for delay. Robespierre comes to the Convention to-morrow; THERE we must confront and crush him. From the Mountain shall frown against him the grim shade of Danton,--from the Plain shall rise, in their b.l.o.o.d.y cerements, the spectres of Vergniaud and Condorcet. Frappons!"
"Frappons!" cried even Barrere, startled into energy by the new daring of his colleague,--"frappons! il n"y a que les morts qui ne reviennent pas."
It was observable (and the fact may be found in one of the memoirs of the time) that, during that day and night (the 7th Thermidor), a stranger to all the previous events of that stormy time was seen in various parts of the city,--in the cafes, the clubs, the haunts of the various factions; that, to the astonishment and dismay of his hearers, he talked aloud of the crimes of Robespierre, and predicted his coming fall; and, as he spoke, he stirred up the hearts of men, he loosed the bonds of their fear,--he inflamed them with unwonted rage and daring.
But what surprised them most was, that no voice replied, no hand was lifted against him, no minion, even of the tyrant, cried, "Arrest the traitor." In that impunity men read, as in a book, that the populace had deserted the man of blood.
Once only a fierce, brawny Jacobin sprang up from the table at which he sat, drinking deep, and, approaching the stranger, said, "I seize thee, in the name of the Republic."
"Citizen Aristides," answered the stranger, in a whisper, "go to the lodgings of Robespierre,--he is from home; and in the left pocket of the vest which he cast off not an hour since thou wilt find a paper; when thou hast read that, return. I will await thee; and if thou wouldst then seize me, I will go without a struggle. Look round on those lowering brows; touch me NOW, and thou wilt be torn to pieces."
The Jacobin felt as if compelled to obey against his will. He went forth muttering; he returned,--the stranger was still there. "Mille tonnerres," he said to him, "I thank thee; the poltroon had my name in his list for the guillotine."
With that the Jacobin Aristides sprang upon the table and shouted, "Death to the Tyrant!"
CHAPTER 7.XI.
Le lendemain, 8 Thermidor, Robespierre se decida a p.r.o.noncer son fameux discours.
--Thiers, "Hist. de la Revolution."
(The next day, 8th Thermidor, Robespierre resolved to deliver his celebrated discourse.)
The morning rose,--the 8th of Thermidor (July 26). Robespierre has gone to the Convention. He has gone with his laboured speech; he has gone with his phrases of philanthropy and virtue; he has gone to single out his prey. All his agents are prepared for his reception; the fierce St.
Just has arrived from the armies to second his courage and inflame his wrath. His ominous apparition prepares the audience for the crisis.
"Citizens!" screeched the shrill voice of Robespierre "others have placed before you flattering pictures; I come to announce to you useful truths.
"And they attribute to me,--to me alone!--whatever of harsh or evil is committed: it is Robespierre who wishes it; it is Robespierre who ordains it. Is there a new tax?--it is Robespierre who ruins you. They call me tyrant!--and why? Because I have acquired some influence; but how?--in speaking truth; and who pretends that truth is to be without force in the mouths of the Representatives of the French people?
Doubtless, truth has its power, its rage, its despotism, its accents, touching, terrible, which resound in the pure heart as in the guilty conscience; and which Falsehood can no more imitate than Salmoneus could forge the thunderbolts of Heaven. What am I whom they accuse? A slave of liberty,--a living martyr of the Republic; the victim as the enemy of crime! All ruffianism affronts me, and actions legitimate in others are crimes in me. It is enough to know me to be calumniated. It is in my very zeal that they discover my guilt. Take from me my conscience, and I should be the most miserable of men!"
He paused; and Couthon wiped his eyes, and St. Just murmured applause as with stern looks he gazed on the rebellious Mountain; and there was a dead, mournful, and chilling silence through the audience. The touching sentiment woke no echo.
The orator cast his eyes around. Ho! he will soon arouse that apathy.
He proceeds, he praises, he pities himself no more. He denounces,--he accuses. Overflooded with his venom, he vomits it forth on all. At home, abroad, finances, war,--on all! Shriller and sharper rose his voice,--
"A conspiracy exists against the public liberty. It owes its strength to a criminal coalition in the very bosom of the Convention; it has accomplices in the bosom of the Committee of Public Safety...What is the remedy to this evil? To punish the traitors; to purify this committee; to crush all factions by the weight of the National Authority; to raise upon their ruins the power of Liberty and Justice. Such are the principles of that Reform. Must I be ambitious to profess them?--then the principles are proscribed, and Tyranny reigns amongst us! For what can you object to a man who is in the right, and has at least this knowledge,--he knows how to die for his native land! I am made to combat crime, and not to govern it. The time, alas! is not yet arrived when men of worth can serve with impunity their country. So long as the knaves rule, the defenders of liberty will be only the proscribed."
For two hours, through that cold and gloomy audience, shrilled the Death-speech. In silence it began, in silence closed. The enemies of the orator were afraid to express resentment; they knew not yet the exact balance of power. His partisans were afraid to approve; they knew not whom of their own friends and relations the accusations were designed to single forth. "Take care!" whispered each to each; "it is thou whom he threatens." But silent though the audience, it was, at the first, wellnigh subdued. There was still about this terrible man the spell of an overmastering will. Always--though not what is called a great orator--resolute, and sovereign in the use of words; words seemed as things when uttered by one who with a nod moved the troops of Henriot, and influenced the judgment of Rene Dumas, grim President of the Tribunal. Lecointre of Versailles rose, and there was an anxious movement of attention; for Lecointre was one of the fiercest foes of the tyrant. What was the dismay of the Tallien faction; what the complacent smile of Couthon,--when Lecointre demanded only that the oration should be printed! All seemed paralyzed. At length Bourdon de l"Oise, whose name was doubly marked in the black list of the Dictator, stalked to the tribune, and moved the bold counter-resolution, that the speech should be referred to the two committees whom that very speech accused. Still no applause from the conspirators; they sat torpid as frozen men. The shrinking Barrere, ever on the prudent side, looked round before he rose. He rises, and sides with Lecointre! Then Couthon seized the occasion, and from his seat (a privilege permitted only to the paralytic philanthropist) (M. Thiers in his History, volume iv. page 79, makes a curious blunder: he says, "Couthon s"elance a la tribune." (Couthon darted towards the tribune.) Poor Couthon! whose half body was dead, and who was always wheeled in his chair into the Convention, and spoke sitting.), and with his melodious voice sought to convert the crisis into a triumph.
He demanded, not only that the harangue should be printed, but sent to all the communes and all the armies. It was necessary to soothe a wronged and ulcerated heart. Deputies, the most faithful, had been accused of shedding blood. "Ah! if HE had contributed to the death of one innocent man, he should immolate himself with grief." Beautiful tenderness!--and while he spoke, he fondled the spaniel in his bosom.
Bravo, Couthon! Robespierre triumphs! The reign of Terror shall endure!
The old submission settles dovelike back in the a.s.sembly! They vote the printing of the Death-speech, and its transmission to all the munic.i.p.alities. From the benches of the Mountain, Tallien, alarmed, dismayed, impatient, and indignant, cast his gaze where sat the strangers admitted to hear the debates; and suddenly he met the eyes of the Unknown who had brought to him the letter from Teresa de Fontenai the preceding day. The eyes fascinated him as he gazed. In aftertimes he often said that their regard, fixed, earnest, half-reproachful, and yet cheering and triumphant, filled him with new life and courage. They spoke to his heart as the trumpet speaks to the war-horse. He moved from his seat; he whispered with his allies: the spirit he had drawn in was contagious; the men whom Robespierre especially had denounced, and who saw the sword over their heads, woke from their torpid trance. Vadier, Cambon, Billaud-Varennes, Panis, Amar, rose at once,--all at once demanded speech. Vadier is first heard, the rest succeed. It burst forth, the Mountain, with its fires and consuming lava; flood upon flood they rush, a legion of Ciceros upon the startled Catiline! Robespierre falters, hesitates,--would qualify, retract. They gather new courage from his new fears; they interrupt him; they drown his voice; they demand the reversal of the motion. Amar moves again that the speech be referred to the Committees, to the Committees,--to his enemies!
Confusion and noise and clamour! Robespierre wraps himself in silent and superb disdain. Pale, defeated, but not yet destroyed, he stands,--a storm in the midst of storm!
The motion is carried. All men foresee in that defeat the Dictator"s downfall. A solitary cry rose from the galleries; it was caught up; it circled through the hall, the audience: "A bas le tyrant! Vive la republique!" (Down with the tyrant! Hurrah for the republic!)
CHAPTER 7.XII.