In the Name of Liberty: A Story of the Terror

  XI

  NICOLE FORGOES THE SACRIFICE

  The Maison Talaru, where Dossonville presented himself the next day,was the strangest of all the strange prisons improvised to suitthe needs of the Revolution. Crowded with aristocrats, it remainedunmolested, thanks to the enormous sums its lodgers paid for theirsecurity. In return, the inmates passed the time in agreeableintercourse, gambling, amusing themselves, and eating well. Schmidt,the jailer, not without a touch of humor, replaced the enormous dogswhich attended his confreres by a peaceable lamb, whose neck and feet,decorated with pink bows, never failed to reassure the new arrivals.

  Placed in his lucrative position by the aid of Dossonville, Schmidt hadnothing to refuse his protector; but, as he was at bottom avaricious,he met him with an anxious query as to the probable duration ofNicole's stay.

  "What difference can that make to you?" Dossonville replied.

  "The fact is, citoyen," Schmidt began cautiously, "the citoyenne has aroom to herself, at your request, which brings me in eighteen livres aday, which makes five hundred and forty livres a month, which makes sixthousand six hundred livres a year. It's a good sum."

  "Mordieu! what gratitude you must bear me, my friend!"

  "Yes, yes!" the jailer hastened to say, but with a doubtful inflection."The ci-devant Marquis of Talaru has only a little office, and he paysthat price."

  "But he is the proprietor, I thought?"

  "He rented the place to the section for six thousand six hundredlivres."

  "The price you charge him?"

  "Yes."

  "Good! So he pays you back, for the privilege of remaining a prisonerin his own home, the amount of your rent. Excellent! And they say werepublicans are lacking in wit! As for you, citoyen, reassure yourself;the Citoyenne Nicole is here but temporarily."

  "Eh, she can stay as long as she wants," Schmidt said hastily, withan eye to future patronage. "I only wanted you to know that I havegratitude."

  "And its extent," Dossonville replied with a smile. "Lead the way withyour lamb. Did the citoyenne remain quiet? Did she eat anything?"

  "A nothing--a sip and a nibble."

  Somewhat apprehensive at this symptom, Dossonville approached her roomand entered with a hearty "Well, and how goes it?"

  Nicole, still exalted and intense, without replying, came forward,questioning him with a glance.

  "Reassure yourself, Nicole; everything is for the best," he said.Then, unable to meet the persistent search of her eyes, he admittedgrudgingly: "Javogues is dead."

  She inclined her head.

  "When you kill a man, you know it. There is an intuition. What do theysay of me?"

  "Everything turned out miraculously," Dossonville answered joyfully."My men were on guard. No one entered. Javogues did not betray you. Thebelief is that you stabbed him to save yourself." Without noticing therevolt in her eyes, he continued eagerly: "You are in no danger. I haverouted the Tapedures for the present. In a week I'll transfer you tothe Madelonnettes, where I have Barabant safely tucked away. There youcan wait until the tide sets against the Terrorists, and--"

  He stopped, perceiving his blunder, while Nicole, smiling a little athis confusion, said:

  "Why do you stop?"

  As he began again lamely, she interrupted:

  "No, Dossonville, you see as well as I that it cannot be. Why doesevery one wish to save me?"

  "I do not understand."

  "Yes, Dossonville, you do, and you see your mistake. You would make meout a murderess. I am not a murderess. I gave my life to the Nationin exchange for Javogues's. I killed him to save Barabant, to save ahundred others who would perish if he had lived. As a patriot, I killedhim to deliver the Nation of a monster. Only my life can justify thedeed. Don't you see?" She took his hands in hers, saying: "Dear friend,bring me before the tribunal and I will bless you."

  "And Barabant?" Dossonville said desperately.

  She shook her head. In her present exaltation all that seemed likeanother life which she had renounced for martyrdom.

  "And Barabant?" repeated Dossonville.

  "Tell him I did it to save him. He will venerate my memory." She addedslowly: "Then I will hold a place in his heart that no woman can evertake. That will be for the best."

  "Nicole, listen to me," cried Dossonville. "Listen, for what I say istrue. Denounce yourself, and you will drag Barabant to his death. Onceadmit your reasons for killing Javogues, and Barabant dies as youraccomplice."

  "Oh, oh!"

  Recoiling before this immense, inexorable obstacle to her purpose,Nicole fell to her knees, imploring him with her hands:

  "No, no, Dossonville, you are telling me that to save me."

  "Yes, to save you; but it is true. Decide for yourself, but yourconfession sends to the guillotine every friend you have!"

  "Dossonville! Dossonville! You are plunging a dagger into my heart!"

  "Listen, Nicole; I swear to you it is the truth," he said, raising herfrom the floor to a chair. "Denounce yourself now, nothing can savehim. I say no more; decide for yourself."

  Leaving her limp with despair, he departed, well satisfied that theleaven would work and that time and reflection would temper her resolve.

  * * * * *

  The next day, instead of returning, Dossonville sought out Barabant,obtaining from the frantic lover a letter to Nicole, which he haddelivered by the medium of Schmidt. Each day, ignoring the demands thegirl sent him by the jailer, Dossonville repeated the same tactics,confident in the power of lovers' logic to sway her finally.

  One misfortune disturbed his triumph. On the day following Javogues'sdeath, Louison informed him of the execution of Goursac. Dossonville,who from his fruitless efforts to save the Girondin had retained adeep sentiment of admiration for him, was much affected by the news,and yielding to his anger, scoured the city for traces of the threeTapedures. But despite the most diligent search in cafe, market, andboulevard, not a sign nor an echo could he find of the former despots.

  On the ninth day of Nicole's imprisonment, Schmidt handed him a wordfrom the girl, promising to reason over the decision. But Dossonville,though encouraged, divined that she would meet him with fresharguments, and absented himself, until at the end of a week he receiveda second message:

  "I renounce. Come."

  Then, satisfied, he mounted to her room, grumbling to himself:

  "Mordieu! one can't talk forever of dying when one is young and isloved!"

  To his alarm, she received him without protestations, while her eyes,as they regarded him sadly, conceded the victory, but reproached himfor the means.

  "I must see him," she said simply. "Take me to him."

  "What then?" Dossonville questioned, suspicious of her calm.

  "I will do nothing to endanger his life."

  "It is a promise?"

  "I promise to do nothing that will endanger his life," she repeatedcarefully.

  "She is still determined to sacrifice herself," he thought. "Mordieu!what an idea! Barabant will make her forget."

  That night, toward eleven, he conducted the girl to Les Madelonnettesand restored her to Barabant. Only the lantern of the jailer lightedthe sleeping halls as Nicole, with a cry, flew to her lover's arms.In their happiness they forgot their protector; but Dossonville, wellcontent, withdrew, drawing after him the guard.

  "You seem different," Barabant said at last. "What is it?"

  "I have been away from you."

  "How could you think of sacrificing yourself?" he said reproachfully.

  "I was away from you," she repeated.

  "You are here as my wife," he whispered. "Citoyenne Barabant, youunderstand?"

  "Yes."

  "But what is the matter? Why do you cry?"

  "It is from joy," she said.

  * * * * *

  Then for the two prisoners began that weary cycle of the p
risons,days so incredible that even those who survived looked back to them,doubting their memory. Everything became monotonous; scenes ofheart-rending grief, partings of mothers and children, husbands tornfrom their wives, the experience of every day cloyed in the lassitudethat came from too much suffering. Toward six in the afternoon theyassembled in the main halls, listening at first with faltering courage,and then with indifference, to the turnkey reading the list of thosesummoned to the bar of the Revolutionary Tribunal.

  The accused passed out, sullen, resigned, hoping, trusting to a straw,indifferent, tired, and their names were heard no more until thefollowing day, when a turnkey, with brutal exultation, read the list ofthose who had perished on the guillotine.

  A shriek, a sob, a curse, perhaps, would be heard, a sudden convergingwhere a woman had fallen unconscious; but the rest stolidly, dully,counted the hours to the next summons. New arrivals, the dailypapers, an occasional letter, brought them news of the fantastic,heaving outer world. It was Frimaire, with tales of the drownings atNantes--republican marriages, where man and woman, tied together, werethrown into the river with brutal jests; Ventose, with its incrediblenews that Hebert, the savage Pere Duchesne, and the bull-dogs of theTerror had fallen; Germinal, more amazing than all--Danton the lion andCamille Desmoulins, beloved of all, swept into the common fate. And allthe time the prisons were bursting with suspects arriving by hundredsfrom the sections, faster than the guillotine could serve them.

  In Nivose the names of the Citoyen and Citoyenne Barabant were called,and hand in hand, without a word, they presented themselves. Theyentered the rolling chariot, seeing again the unfamiliar streets; butit was not to trial that they were borne, but to another prison, theBenedictins Anglais. In Germinal they were again called, and once moreexpecting death, were again transferred, this time to the Prison desQuatre Nations, with a glimpse of the sun on the warm waters of theswollen Seine and the breath of the spring that, as in mockery, broughtto their laps a shower of petals from the flowering trees. Twice againtransferred, they passed through the Hotel des Fermes and arrived inFructidor at Les Carmes.

  Here new tortures awaited them from the hands of their captors,clamoring for measures that would empty the prisons of this constantlyswelling horde of suspects. First, the newspaper was forbidden them,then all communication with the outside world. On pretext thatthe aristocrats were tempting the guards by bribery, a search wasinstituted and all money and valuables were seized. Later, anothersearch was ordered, and all knives, forks, razors, and pins wereconfiscated, until for a woman to keep a hair-pin exposed her toimmediate trial.

  These tyrannical measures, designed to provoke complaint, failing oftheir purpose, the jailers had recourse to petty tyranny, to insultsand jibes. Families were separated that they might feel the force ofpunishment due their crimes. Miniatures of loved ones were snatchedfrom their throats, with the brutal declaration that traitors had noright to consolation. The vilest bread, spoiled meat, decayed herring,were put before them, and when still no complaint was heard theturnkey, nonplussed and furious, exclaimed:

  "Damned aristocrats! What, we feed you garbage and you won't complain!"

  Of the two, Barabant, tired of the long suspense, no longer retainedany desire to struggle. Nicole alone upheld his resolution,encouraging, inspiring, invigorating him with her indomitable gaiety.

  In the long months, she had gone resolutely and without subterfuge overthe problem of their relations. At first, in the new flush of happinessat again possessing him, she had yielded weakly, and, banishing fromher mind the inexorable figure of Javogues, she had turned to life andhope. In the ascendancy that her courage took over the limp resolutionof Barabant she felt in herself a new power, and in him a new need forher, that tempted her with the bright vision of marriage.

  As she began to reason the mood passed. For the first time she sawhim in the company of men of intelligence and education, with whomhe discoursed on things that were to her a closed book. Then sherealized that between Barabant and herself was a gulf of opportunityand interests which she could never bridge. He too, she soon realized,felt insensibly the distance between them: she passed for his wife, butthe constant reiteration never suggested to him what it brought to her.To become his wife was to be a drag to his future; to remain as theywere was to count the hours of her youth. So, vaguely, in a confusedintuition, the girl, struggling to understand what was barred to her,grew to realize the limitations to her life. It was a tragedy whicheverway she sought, but the tragedy had begun at the first breath of lovethat had awakened her. So renouncing the future, she returned to thethought of sacrifice,--to save Barabant and, appeasing the _manes_ ofJavogues, to dwell in her lover's heart a bright memory of youth anddevotion, that would abide with him through life. Therein she took hercourage and all her consolation.

  With the arrival of Thermidor, the Terrorists, checked by the passiveattitude of the prisoners, introduced, as suspects among the prisons,spies, who, succeeding by malignant imagination where brutality hadfailed, denounced to the Committee of Safety a conspiracy by whichthe prisoners were to escape by ropes from the windows, overpower theguards, and assassinate the Convention.

  The pretext was found sufficient and elastic, and the hecatombsbegan. The spies, called _moutons_, prepared the lists each nightthat sent troops of twenty-five or more each day into the fatalchariots,--paralytics, men of seventy, feeble women and maidens,--thecrimes of all comprised under the heading of intention to assassinatethe Convention. As fast as the prisons were emptied the influx arrived,forcing more transfers.

  On the 7th of Thermidor, for the fifth time, Nicole and Barabantwere placed in the chariots, to be conveyed to another prison. ThenBarabant, utterly tired, rebelled and said:

  "At last it is too much. I want to end it. I can endure it no longer.Nicole, let me die now and be through with the suspense. We cannotescape. They are guillotining fifty a day. Next month it will be ahundred. Let us be firm and not await another month of torture."

  "Then, Barabant, after all I have done," she said reproachfully, "youwould send me to the guillotine?"

  "You?"

  "I follow where you go."

  But their companions cried in alarm: "What are you doing?"

  "You'll betray us all!"

  "For mercy's sake, be silent!"

  Barabant, without energy to pursue long any determination, resignedhimself wearily to their protests and the appeal of Nicole.

  The chariot rolled out into the streets, where the passers-by, weighteddown with the prevailing depression, regarded them without hatredand without curiosity. Their journey led them by the gardens of theLuxembourg, resplendent with green and the glisten of cool fountains.In the chariot some one said:

  "Pleasant weather!"

  "What good does that do us?" grumbled another.

  "I played there as a youngster; but what of that?"

  "It does not seem different. How curious!"

  "Where are we going?"

  "To the Porte-Libre."

  "I was there in Prairial."

  "What's it like?"

  "The same as the rest."

  The whispered comments ceased as the prison loomed over them. The cartsground on the cobblestones, passing the gate. From somewhere among thema sigh was heard. A voice said, with a low laugh:

  "Here's the inn. All down!"

  They passed to the office for identification and enrolment, and onthrough a square into the strange corridor to the hall, where a scoreof inmates straggled in curiously to see if they recognized any of thenew arrivals. There, to her despair, Nicole beheld, in the shadow of apillar, screened a little from the crowd, the face she had dreaded formonths to encounter--the malignant face of Cramoisin, the Tapedure.