In the Name of Liberty: A Story of the Terror

  IV

  SIMON LAJOIE

  The inhabitants of the Rue Maugout, astounded by the sight of Genevievearm in arm with the overshadowing Javogues, had not recovered from theshock of this evidence of human feeling in their tyrant when the nextday brought them a further surprise.

  Toward five in the afternoon Dossonville, with the evident purposeof impressing his enemies by a new accession of strength, made hisappearance, with a body-guard of two. The onlookers, enjoying theamazement of the Marseillais, were yet themselves astonished andperplexed at the incongruity of the new reinforcement.

  One, short and contracted, gave the impression that by some mysterioussettling his head had shrunk on his shoulders, his shoulders had movedtoward his waist, and by this gradual process his whole body had beentelescoped into his legs. A huge, flattened nose, or rather beak,imposed itself upon the yellowish, parched face and empty cheeks,while from two slits under the overhanging brows, the half-hidden eyes,without deviating from their forward direction, absorbed the outerworld.

  His companion, in contrast to the dragging gait of his fellow, moved inshort steps, picking up his feet. The sharp nose, set as close as ispossible to the perpendicular, pointed the way to the head, which, setforward on the craning neck, seemed in turn to be running ahead of thefrail body.

  Dossonville, with his loose amble and important tilt of head, gavethe cabaret a "Salut!" and continued twirling in his hand for hisonly weapon an ivory baton a scant two feet in length. Behind himthe watch-dogs paused, one grim, taciturn, and furtive, the otherloquacious, florid of gesture, and loud, while, as a cur at theapproach of a strange dog draws himself up snarling and apprehensive,Javogues and the three half started from their chairs.

  Satisfied with the discomfiture of the Terrorists, Dossonville led hisfollowers to the Place de la Revolution, where he found the executionover and the crowd, with a scattering hand-clap, dispersing.

  On the terraces of the Tuileries a few spectators still lingeredcuriously, looking down on the scaffold that violently interrupted thepeaceful vista of the woods beyond. Threading his way through thewidening network of women, soldiers, spies, muscadins, and laborers,Dossonville perceived Louison, who, having at last quitted theenvironment of the scaffold, was returning toward the Cabaret de laGuillotine to dispose of her cockades.

  "Well, Louison," he cried, "you have a bored air! It was stupid thisafternoon, then? The show did not interest?"

  "Nothing but a priest to-day--all priests die in the same way,"she answered. "However, yesterday it was better. They guillotinedtwin brothers. That was something out of the ordinary." She addedthoughtfully: "It's curious how alike men are on the scaffold."

  All at once she perceived the two who had halted obediently at adistance of twenty paces. Dossonville, when her glance had traveledfrom them to him, and back and forth, in amazement and inquiry, openedhis wide mouth and said with pride, indicating them with a flourish:

  "Aren't they darlings, though? My assistants, my lambs, my watch-dogs!"

  Louison, seized with a sudden, mad laughter, found a moment to say:

  "Where, please, did you find such a pair of cutthroats?"

  "From the galleys."

  "And you trust them?"

  "Do you think I'd trust an honest man?" Dossonville exclaimed, witha laugh that left the girl in doubt as to his seriousness. "What isan honest man? A man who has not been sufficiently tempted. Give methe rogue every time. Depend on no man until he is a rogue--a rogueyou hold, by his past. With an honest man you are at the mercy of hisfuture." He again designated his assistants. "A word from me would sendthem to the guillotine. That is the only way to insure tranquillity."

  "That's a new theory," Louison exclaimed, much amused. "And there issense in it. What do you call them, your trusty rogues?"

  "You see the short one with the borrowed legs?" Dossonville answeredproudly. "I call him Le Corbeau, from his beak and blinking eyes.I picked him up in the Cour des Miracles, ex-beggar, ex-cripple,ex-thief, hidden in a cellar. I offered him protection from arrest inreturn for services. He accepted; I supplied a coat and a hat, andthere he is.

  "The other who stands there shaking in the wind is Sans-Chagrin,ex-priest, recanted and reformed. On the subject of our bargain Isay nothing, only that I dispose of his neck as easily as mine."Dismissing them by a signal, he took Louison's arm. "Now for us. Whatdo you say to a drop of something in the Rue de Bourgogne?"

  "I say, on to the Rue de Bourgogne!"

  At the scaffold they made a detour to escape the contact of blood,which made the place abhorrent and carried on the shoes of those whopassed in front of the scaffold the red trail for blocks about.

  Louison, as they went, was crying her cockades, when suddenly theywere aware of a shrinking and a widening in the crowd, and looking up,perceived Sanson, the executioner, and his sons advancing, impassive toall demonstrations. Seized with a mad desire, the girl stepped towardthem, crying:

  "A cockade, Citoyen Sanson, a red cockade!"

  The next moment Dossonville had jerked her away.

  "Mordieu, Louison!" he cried angrily. "Why did you do that?"

  "Why not?" she said, laughing. "The Revolution has abolishedprejudices!"

  "It cannot change human nature," he retorted. "You can call himExecutor of Public Judgments, Avenger of the Nation, he is always theexecutioner." He added frankly, "Louison, ma belle, there are reallymoments when you are not human. At an execution you are like granite!"

  "Very well, do not notice me."

  "That's easy to say," he grumbled. "Besides, I'm curious."

  "Indeed."

  "Barabant has been telling me about that extraordinary mother of yours."

  "Barabant?" Louison said uneasily. "He doesn't like me."

  "I like nothing so well as a mystery," Dossonville continuedenthusiastically. "I have three plans already to make her speak."

  "Five would do no good."

  "Why not?"

  "She has left for the provinces."

  "Diable!"

  "Besides, I do not care to be mysterious," she said impatiently, "and Ido not like to be thought strange."

  "Speak no more of it," said Dossonville, though inwardly relinquishingnothing of his purpose. "In future I'll consider you only as acommonplace woman."

  Louison regarded him maliciously.

  "Determine that for yourself."

  "Satane de femme!" he exclaimed. "I'll be very careful what Idetermine. Louison, you are not a woman who can be loved comfortably. Itell it to you frankly. The place seems good; let us sit down."

  * * * * *

  Several nights later, Dossonville, resting on his rounds, was seatedat a table in front of the Cafe de Valmy, in the Quartier des BonnesNouvelles. The bells had announced the midnight; from the intersectionsof the square the streets yawned to him out of the impenetrabledarkness.

  For once Dossonville abandoned himself to reverie--a mood evoked bythe memory of Louison. Since his encounter, the mystery of her birthhad continually teased his imagination. The terror of la Mere Baudrierwhen Louison had announced the discovery of her father, and again themother's strange rendezvous in the Square de la Bastille, suggestedsuch an unusual solution, without offering a clue, that his mindreturned again and again to the problem.

  In another corner, Sans-Chagrin, late in his cups, disputed with thehost upon the value of religion, while Le Corbeau, who by his silencegained the majority of the decanter, pretended indifference to thediscussion.

  "I know what I say," Sans-Chagrin was declaiming. "Religion is a farceand the Assembly will do well to abolish it!"

  "That is not so certain," objected the listener.

  "It will come."

  "Perhaps--"

  "Religion will be abolished! I know what I'm saying. I was a priestmyself."

  "Come, now!"

  "True. They expelled me. And why? Why? Tell me that
."

  "Out with it."

  "For instituting reforms. Religion is a farce!"

  A woman, scenting a story, issued from the door, and leaning on theshoulder of her husband, said:

  "Come, Citoyen Sans-Chagrin, tell us of that."

  "I reformed the confessional," Sans-Chagrin began querulously. "Aye,and it needed it, too. Every day and every hour I had to be disturbedfor a confession. I said to myself, if there's so much wickedness, it'sbecause the confessional isn't rigid enough. That's logical, isn't it?"

  "And what did you do?"

  "Only this. I announced that, in future, to avert confusion and tobetter impress the penitent with his crime, I would hear confessionsthus:

  "On Monday, all the liars.

  "On Tuesday, all the misers.

  "On Wednesday, all the slanderers.

  "On Thursday, all the thieves.

  "On Friday, all the libertines.

  "On Saturday, all women who lead bad lives."

  His listeners burst out laughing, while the woman said, "And no onecame?"

  "No one came!" Sans-Chagrin repeated indignantly. "No one came! And theChurch, instead of adopting the reform, expelled me. They said I wantedto be rid of confessions. What a farce, my friends, what a mockery!"He spread out his arms in appeal to their judgment, slapped his chestthree times, and fell back loosely in his chair, exclaiming, "Oh, oh,oh!"

  Dossonville, who had lent a moment's amused attention to this farcicalrecital, rose and returned to the march, a manoeuver which causedSans-Chagrin and Le Corbeau to choke in their haste to empty thedecanter.

  They had gone but a short distance when Dossonville's ear caught theslight rasp of a window opening overhead. Flattening himself againstthe wall, he covered his lantern with his cloak, with a whisperedcaution to his followers as the window continued to give forth its lowcomplaint. There was a minute's silence, and then it was drawn shut,and the slight click of a bolt was heard.

  Hearing nothing further, Dossonville finally resumed his walk, but atthe next corner some one muffled in a cloak fell into his arms.

  The man, with a dozen pardons, sought to make a detour, butDossonville's long arm, shooting out, grasped his shoulder.

  "Not so fast, citoyen. There's a little formality we must not forget.Name and errand?"

  The stranger, perceiving him neither to be surrounded with pistols andknives nor to have a very threatening air, answered:

  "Citoyen Clappier, Section des Bonnes Nouvelles. I am hurrying to seeka doctor."

  "Show your card of citizenship, and pass."

  "The devil!" the man exclaimed, after a show of searching in hispockets. "I forgot to take it out of the coat I wore this morning."

  "Really, citoyen, you are in bad luck," Dossonville replied. "I shallbe forced to accompany you." He summoned Sans-Chagrin and Le Corbeauout of the shadow, and gave him into their charge, with a "Lead theway!" Then he dropped behind, murmuring, "Provided one does not enterthat doctor's by the window."

  They journeyed silently for several minutes, until suddenly the threeahead halted, and Sans-Chagrin, returning, said:

  "The citoyen wishes to speak with you."

  Dossonville, who had expected this denouement, had the prisoner broughtto him.

  "Well, citoyen, what is it?"

  "Citoyen, I ask a moment's private conversation."

  "With me?"

  "With you alone."

  "It is important, then?"

  "Very."

  "Good!"

  Perceiving that their walk had brought them near to theirstarting-point, Dossonville led the way to the Cafe de Valmy, passingthrough which, he entered a small room, giving orders to his body-guardto remain without. Then shutting the door, he straddled a chair, restedhis arms on the back, and with a smile awaited the opening.

  "Citoyen Dossonville--" the man began.

  "What! You know me?"

  "For a long time."

  "Indeed!" Dossonville exclaimed, astounded and nonplussed by thisknowledge.

  "Citoyen Dossonville," the man continued, "I ask of you one promise. IfI convince you of my patriotism and my citizenship, will you guard mysecret? I ask you as a man of honor."

  Dossonville inclined his head.

  "Agreed. I promise to keep the secret, on condition that you convinceme of your patriotism--that is, by showing me your true card ofcitizenship."

  "That will not be necessary."

  Throwing back his cloak, he removed a wig and mustaches, discovering toDossonville the features of Sanson, the executioner.

  "Do you recognize me?"

  At this sinister figure, Dossonville recoiled with a movement beyondhis control, but recovering, he exclaimed:

  "Pardon."

  "It is nothing," Sanson answered flatly. "I am used to it."

  "Pardon. What surprises me is this," said Dossonville, hiding his ownemotion. "That you who have been imprisoned for suspected Royalistinterests should expose yourself to suspicion for any cause."

  "Have you not guessed my errand?" Sanson said, with a frown.

  "Until you disclosed your identity, yes," Dossonville retorted sharply."But such adventures do not necessitate a disguise at one o'clock inthe night. Citoyen Sanson, had I met you otherwise, I should havenothing to say; but disguised and under a false name is different. Ishall have to report it."

  Sanson reseated himself.

  "For thirty years I have assumed disguises and another name. Do youneed to be told the reason? You yourself gave it but a moment ago,"--hepaused,--"when you recoiled."

  "I do not understand," Dossonville said coldly, resolved to push him tothe end. "Explain fully. If I am to risk myself thus, I must know all."

  "What you cannot understand--you cannot understand!" Sanson broke outirritably, while his eyes sought the face of his captor, doubting thesincerity of the objection. The movement of anger passed; recognizingthe peril of his position, he extended his hand and began in a flat,monotonous voice:

  "Citoyen Dossonville, it is disagreeable, but I cannot make conditions.Citoyen, I need not tell you that we have always lived apart fromsociety. As far back as we know, every male of our family, fromfather to son, has been of the same profession. All others are barredto us. Three have tried to bury themselves in the outer world. Theywere driven back. Every woman has married an executioner, every man adaughter of one. The office I hold was given Charles Sanson in the year1688. My grandfather, my father, and myself have inherited it. It willdescend from son to son, whether King or Republic succeeds. Nothingwill ever change that!"

  He paused a moment in distaste before continuing:

  "When we appear in public, a space is opened to us. We pass in anycrowd without touching a shoulder. The poor, to whom we give alms,recoil before our touch. The woman who would speak to us would be castout, as a pariah. But no woman, recognizing us, would wish to speakto us. We had hoped the Revolution would free us from the universalprejudice--vain hope!" Then, as though he had said enough, he broke offacridly: "And yet you cannot understand why I disguise myself?"

  Dossonville, lost in the strange vista which the recital had opened tohis imagination, did not at once reply.

  "And you keep the secret from every one?" he asked at last.

  Sanson, perceiving the question was one of personal curiosity, repliedcurtly:

  "I have said that no woman knowing us has ever spoken to us. I shouldhave said, except one." He smiled, if the curling of his lips could becalled a smile. "A bouquetiere who was with you one day on the Place dela Revolution."

  "The story is on your word alone," Dossonville said, irritated by thisallusion. "It lacks evidence."

  "Then you do not remember me?" Sanson said.

  Dossonville, startled at the turn, for a moment lost hisself-possession as he strove to penetrate the allusion.

  "Citoyen Dossonville, can you recall the Cafe Procope about twentyyears ago, and a certain Simon Lajoie who sometimes played a game ofcheckers with you in the evening, and who inspi
red you with a greatdeal of curiosity?"

  "Perfectly," Dossonville replied, staring at him in perplexity.

  "Do you remember that his visits ceased the day your interest promptedyou to follow him from the cafe?"

  "What!" Dossonville cried, rising, and extending his hand in question."It was--?"

  "It was I."

  "Tonnerre de Dieu!"

  And falling back, he stared in empty, stupid amazement.

  "Are you convinced?"

  "I am."

  "I hold your promise?"

  "Yes."

  Sanson readjusted his disguise, while Dossonville sought some pretextto retain him and make him talk.

  "Citoyen, one question."

  "Well, what?"

  "I should like to know," Dossonville said, "does the popular hatredaffect you?"

  Sanson frowned, hesitated, and then answered in two words eloquent withmeaning:

  "Not now."

  Then, without offering his hand, he turned, saying peremptorily:

  "Adieu!"

  Sans-Chagrin and Le Corbeau, who would not have allowed the devilhimself to pass without an order, brought him back. Then Dossonville,springing to his feet, cried:

  "Set the Citoyen Clappier free! The Citoyen Clappier is an industriouspatriot!"