XV
THE FALL OF THE TERROR
On the 9th of Thermidor Dossonville, who had long foreseen theinevitable conflict of Robespierre and the Convention, resolved onanother rapid shift, and, appearing in the Rue Maugout, denouncedRobespierre and the Jacobins in such unmeasured terms that he not onlysent his listeners galloping off to denounce him, but to his amazementon turning about, found himself deserted even by Sans-Chagrin and LeCorbeau.
According to his custom, he visited the Conciergerie to inspect theprisoners. Already in the streets was the awakening of the greatconflict. In the crowds the Jacobins alone raised their voices infurious boasting; but silence predominated, and the silence told ofanger and condemnation.
In the first division he found no familiar face among the twenty-oddprisoners until, on the point of turning away, he discovered the abjectform of Cramoisin. The downfall of the Terrorists appeared to him as afavorable presage.
He passed to the second division; there the crowd was thicker and moreturbulent. Over the uneven field of bobbing heads he saw the judgeson the bench, the listless jury, joking among themselves, and theabhorrent figure of Fouquier; while to the right, packed together onthe benches, were the score of prisoners who waited, without hope, themockery of a trial.
Dossonville, taking his place in the stream of those who constantlypressed to the front seeking the face of relative or friend, yieldedgood-humoredly the right of way to those who sought in sorrow. Aftersome delay he reached the front rank. There a cry was torn from him:
"Oh, mon Dieu!"
At the first glance he had seen Nicole. Drawn by some subtleintelligence, she raised her eyes and saw him.
"What a fatality!" he cried to himself. "She herself has done this!"
A sudden anger filled him, of revolt and resentment against thestubborn sacrifice of this frail girl who had defeated him at the verylast. His glance of reproach she met with one of content, which said:"You see, it is as I said."
She smiled seriously, a little sadly, as one who, though not regrettingthe decision, had not foreseen the cost.
A hand swept him back as others pressed fervently forward. He heard amother's voice cry at his side:
"They have taken my child, my son."
His glance following dumbly the outstretched hands, he beheld atthe side of Nicole the figure of a boy, who searched the crowd withfrightened face. The buzz of voices rose about, the mother's minglingwith the crowd.
"But it's a mistake. He's sixteen."
"Then don't worry, they can't touch him!"
"Aye, he's safe!"
"They arrested him for his brother, who's twenty-six."
"Calm yourself, la petite mere, any one can see he's a boy."
"They'll release him?"
"Of course--he's under age."
"Aye, any one can see that."
Dossonville but half heard them. He was crushed by the cruel turn offate that had claimed her at the last, when the morrow would meanlife and security. His eyes, yet refusing to believe, had never leftNicole's face. She was pale; but the pallor was of serenity, and gaveto her person a certain distinction that seemed to raise her above herclass. From time to time a certain pensiveness, whether of melancholyor of regret, gathered in her eyes. She was looking with womanly revoltbelow her, where, on a litter, exposed to all eyes, lay the unconsciousform of a woman. The audience, rebelling against such cruelty, began tomurmur:
"Remove her!"
"Take her out!"
"Send her to the hospital!"
The cry was taken up, passing from a murmur in the front ranks tovolume and distinctness as it rolled back. The protest became soinsistent that several of the jury began to cast anxious glances atthe audience, and a judge motioned to Fouquier. There was an expectantlull; but Fouquier cried, with a sneer:
"She'll revive. Call the roll!"
The storm that had subsided in anticipation burst forth anew.
"No! No!"
"Remove her!"
"Justice!"
"Outrage!"
Near Dossonville a blacksmith, with leather apron, was shouting:
"To the hospital!"
A red-haired man in a baker's cap, with clenched fists, added:
"Tyrant!"
Fresh arrivals, bringing tidings of uprisings throughout the city,gave new courage to the protests. Fouquier, impressed at last by theoutbursts, rose sullenly and commanded:
"Bear the woman to the witness-room, but the instant she revives bringher back."
The roll-call was begun--the simple attestation of individuality thathad replaced the pleas of advocates and the taking of testimony.Encouraged by its first success, the audience began to murmur:
"They say the Quartier St. Antoine is in revolt against Robespierre."
"The Convention will surely declare him under arrest."
"If he falls, the executions will stop."
"I say the trial ought to stop until we see."
"Yes, postpone the trial."
"What! There are traitors, then, in the room!" cried Fouquier, who, thebetter to see, had mounted a step. Before his threatening glance themovement of clemency died away. Again was heard the monotonous voice ofthe clerk intoning the roll and the listless responses of the accused.In the stand one of the jury impatiently pulled out a watch, anotherstifled a yawn.
All at once there was a craning of heads. An interruption had come; thevoice of the young boy was protesting:
"Citoyen, the accusation is for my brother. I am not twenty-six. I havedone nothing against the Republic. Citoyen, I am sixteen. I have mypapers to prove it."
A greffier nodded his head in confirmation, and extended a handful ofpapers toward the judge, saying:
"Citoyen, he speaks the truth."
Murmurs ran through the crowd:
"It's a mistake!"
"He's a child!"
"Release him!"
On the judges' bench the figure of Dumas arose.
"And if you are only sixteen," he cried brutally, "in the matter ofcrime you are fully eighty." Then, with a furious gesture, he added:"Pass on, and make haste!"
The murmur of revolt from the audience was overwhelmed in a sudden roarof astonishment. Dumas had been arrested! The counter-revolution hadcome! Those who had not seen the arrest cried:
"But what has happened?"
"Tell us! Tell us!"
Others answered:
"Dumas!"
"Arrested!"
"The counter-revolution has come!"
A voice cried:
"The quartiers are in arms!"
"True?"
"The tocsin is ringing!"
"They'll make an end of Robespierre?"
"Impossible!"
"It's true! Haven't they arrested Dumas?"
"Suspend the trial!"
"Mercy! Clemency!"
All eyes turned to Fouquier, who answered contemptuously and stubbornly:
"Justice must take its course!"
At Dossonville's side the blacksmith, with the sudden frenzy ofprophecy, cried:
"Fouquier, beware! The guillotine is waiting for you!"
While with brawny shoulders he wriggled free of the willing crowd,Dossonville looked for the hundredth time at Nicole. She had notabandoned her calm; only a slight frown told of the havoc the suddenopening and closing of the gates of hope played in her soul.
Another judge replaced Dumas. The roll-call was hurried on. TwiceFouquier sent a physician to report the condition of the woman inthe witness-room. A flutter of the eyelids would have meant death.She remained in a stupor, and was at last sent to the hospital. Theroll-call ended. The jury, after the farce of declaring that they hadheard sufficient evidence, retired to deliberate upon the guilt of thetwenty-six. They returned shortly. It was late, and many suffered fromthe postponement of the luncheon-hour. One man acquitted--Aviot Turot,laborer.
A shudder passed through the body of Dossonville, and a
groan escapedhis lips. The fatal, inevitable word "Guilty" overwhelmed him. Nicoleheard it with a smile--sad, yet satisfied.
Another stir, and a buzz of comments rose as the executioner enteredand began to converse with Fouquier. Those in front, who could hear,called back:
"Sanson is remonstrating."
"Sanson wants the execution deferred."
"He says the city is rising."
A last time Fouquier refused to budge, and, crossing his arms,reiterated bluntly, to be heard by all:
"No, no! I say no! Justice must take its course."
The condemned, who had paused as they had risen trembling with hope,filed out, while the crowd in the court-room surged forth to meet thetumbrels.
Dossonville, using his privilege of agent de surete, entered theprison, seeking Nicole in the crowd of prisoners massed in the outerhall; threading through anxious groups, who whispered:
"You saw Dumas arrested?"
"They say there is a revolt against Robespierre."
"The people seemed to sympathize with us."
Others, scorning to hang their hopes on desperate chances, waitedstoically or reverently the summons to the tumbrels. A young aristocratwas whistling defiantly:
"Oh, Richard, oh, mon roi, L'univers t'abandonne!"
In another group, guarding their enmity to the end, two brothers of thepeople retorted with the "Marseillaise."
Two women near Dossonville were chatting gaily:
"I am so pale those cursed revolutionists will think that I am afraid."
"You must not give them that satisfaction."
"I do seem pale, then?"
"Yes."
"Ah, then I must rouge!"
Dossonville examined the figure of the graceful woman, who was gailydaubing her cheeks, and recognized the famous Duchess of M----. At thismoment, in the obscurity of the arches, he discovered at last the bluedress and golden hair of Nicole.
"Oh, it is you," she cried joyfully. "I had hoped you could see me."
"Nicole," he said bitterly, "this is your doing."
Her manner changed; she grew serious.
"My friend," she said, "I have but done what I wished. I am happy." Sheheld up her finger with Barabant's ring on it. "You see, I am his wife,and I have saved him."
The outward movement toward the tumbrels had begun. From the doorwaythe guards repeated:
"Hurry up, there; hurry up, you cursed aristocrats!"
Dossonville kissed her with more feeling than he had believed possible,and said, through the tears that clouded his eyes, "I would have savedyou."
"Do not grieve," she said, touched by his sorrow. She took her scarfand put it into his hand, saying: "Give it to him. Tell him that I amhappy--that it is best so. Adieu!"
Then, as though fearing to lose her self-control, she pressed his handand hurried away.
Dossonville, passing out by a side entrance, hastened to meet the slowprocession across the river. The city was in uproar; over the roofs thebells were crying the civil strife, while every street seemed to giveforth the thunder of drums. Masses of volunteers, without formationor leader, swept the boulevards, while the air was charged with theconflict of shouts:
"Vive la Commune!"
"A bas les Jacobins!"
"Vive Robespierre!"
"Robespierre a la Guillotine!"
The chariots crossed from the gates of the Conciergerie, acclaimed bythe hoots and jeers of the daily hordes of mad women who gathered toshriek their foul abuse and frantic revilings. But as the tumbrelspassed the river the insults ceased, replaced by murmurs of sympathy.
In the third chariot Dossonville found Nicole. The duchess, with herbrilliant cheeks, was on the same bench, and between the two women theboy, his hand in Nicole's.
From the direction of the Convention came wild rumors of Robespierre'sdefeat. The crowd, increasing, began to cry:
"Enough blood!"
"No more blood!"
"Pity on the condemned!"
Dossonville, hardly daring to hope, noticed that Sanson examined thecrowd anxiously--a not unfriendly glance. The demonstration continued,growing bolder, a hundred voices insisting:
"Enough blood!"
"No more victims!"
"Stop the massacre!"
Among the prisoners several, unable to resist the sudden leap of hopeto their eyes, stretched out their hands, crying:
"We are innocent!"
In the first chariot Cramoisin, in a frenzy, was shouting:
"Citoyens, do not mistake me. I am a republican. Vive la Republique!Save me, at least!"
Nicole was speaking to the boy; for the new vision of life had madehim tremble. Amid the leaping floods of humanity she remained calm, acertain maternal sweetness and repose enveloping her as she sought tofortify the resolution of her companion. To Dossonville, through therising storm of sound and swaying of bodies, a lull of peace seemed tosurround her and to remove her from the frenzy.
Again the revolt rose in him that she should die thus. Perceivingall at once that the crowd had pressed about the carts until theirprogress was impeded, he flung himself into the swirl, exhorting andencouraging. The cries redoubled, becoming more threatening:
"Save them!"
"Enough butchery!"
"On, comrades! Save them!"
"Aye, deliver them!"
"Stop the chariots!"
"Unhitch the horses! Unhitch the horses!"
At this last, the cry of Dossonville, the multitude, with a shriek oftriumph, surged up against the tumbrels. A hundred hands checked thehorses, reaching out for the buckles of the harness, while a dozenvoices cried:
"Courage! We'll release you!"
Already the prisoners exclaimed joyfully, already Dossonville stretchedout his arms to Nicole, when a cry of fear and despair burst from therescuers, voiced in the dreaded name:
"Henriot! Henriot!"
Up the street, at the head of his dragoons, sabres flashing in the air,break-a-neck came the wild figure of the Jacobin.
The surge of the fleeing crowd held Dossonville a moment against thetumbrel, where he heard through the confusion a cry of despair from theboy, "I could have borne anything but hope!" Then, as Dossonville wasswept away, he saw the child's head fall upon the shoulder of Nicole.The next moment he was buffeted and hurled aside; then a horse struckhim and flung him to the ground, where a dozen feet trampled him.Stunned, covered with dirt, and bleeding, he stumbled to his feet. Thetumbrels, surrounded by cavalry, were disappearing in the distance,moving swiftly. He ran after them, shaking his helpless fist, and as heturned the corner, a groan burst from him. Over the heads of the peoplethe twin shafts of the guillotine sprang into view.
Numb and half unconscious, seeing only, in the third cart, the distantblot of blue, he limped on, following as best he could into the square.He fought his way to the front, beside the cordon of naked swords thatgirdled the scaffold, repeating to himself a hundred times:
"I must not stay! I will not stay!"
But still the pitiful hope of a deliverance held him there, to snatchat every message of the air that floated over the distracted city. Oneafter another the condemned mounted the steps and passed across thestage like phantoms, hurried on by the remorseless Jacobin, whilethose about him cried:
"Oh, for two hours--for one!"
"Cursed Henriot, we could have saved them!"
"Why does the Convention delay?"
"Ah, the monster! He is afraid to lose a single one!"
She came at last, a patch of blue, a white face against the stretchof heads. She saw him not at all, nor any one. The maternal instinctof the woman that had raised her above her companions on the journeywas gone, and with it all consciousness of the world and the sorrowsand the responsibilities which had so transformed her. Only once didshe notice her surroundings, when the bourreau, with impatient hand,bared her throat. Then for a moment her hands went instinctivelyto cover herself from the multitude. Almost immediately her facebecame grave and rever
ent. The assistants advanced to take her to theguillotine. Then with a rapid motion she made the sign of the cross,raising her eyes to the deep sky, as though already she saw beyond thegrave,--the timid question of a child who hesitates in wonder beforethe incomprehensible.
With a sob, Dossonville turned, shrinking from the sight of themutilating knife, and waited with averted face.
There was a vast moment, then a shock of steel, and a woman who hadseen his tears whispered:
"It is over!"
Then, fleeing from the inexorable machine, he plunged, weeping, throughthe crowd, stumbling aimlessly on into the frantic city, where, toolate, every street was echoing to the fear-releasing shrieks ofrejoicing:
"Robespierre is fallen!"
"The Terror is ended!"
EPILOGUE
An hour later Dossonville was arrested, thanks to his politicalsomersault, which had brought him twenty denunciations before theCommittee of Safety as having always spoken ill of the Jacobins anddefamed the character of Robespierre. The accusation of a day served tocleanse the record of months.
Imprisoned for a few months at the Maison Talaru, he gained thefrontier at a favorable moment and embarked for South America. Then forten years, at sea or in the colonies, he was buffeted from continent tocontinent, always embroiled, always running on the lead of adventure,which he called his one bad habit.
When he again saw Paris, the Empire was at its crest. The city he hadleft a wilderness had flowered with the riotous luxuriance of thetropics. The Tuileries Gardens were again noisy with the laughter ofpromenaders, thronging to a review in the Place du Carrousel. Whereverhe went his eye caught the flash of martial splendor and the sheen ofsabers.
A little sadly he spent the days in the strange Babylon, seeking sometrace of the great Revolution that once had rolled through the city, ofthe thundering mobs, the fervid cafes, the tricoteuses, and the creakof the roiling tumbrels.
The Cabaret of the Pretre Pendu, its gibbet banished, had become theCabaret of a Hundred and One Victories. The greeting of "citoyen" nolonger resounded in the street. Of all the familiar faces in the RueMaugout, not one confronted him. La Mere Corniche had been replaced byanother concierge, bent and wrinkled after the manner of concierges, asthough her life had been passed at her post.
Among the counts and barons, marshals and princes, of the Empire,galloping in glory, shouting frantically "Vive l'Empereur!" Dossonvillerecognized with bewilderment figures of Jacobins and Girondins, onceworshipers of the sacred Republic. He sought out the Maison Talaru;lackeys were lounging before the door and a stream of carriages rollingthrough the restored porte-cochere. Once, hearing the rumor of a greatexecution for the afternoon, with a revival of interest he asked apasser-by:
"And the executioner, what do you call him?"
"Sanson."
"Charles Sanson?"
"His son."
Recalling the prophecy of the father, indifferent servitor to republicor kingdom, he returned pensively to the boulevards, where, to ridhimself of black memories, he selected among the pomp and the glitter afashionable cafe, and installed himself.
Presently, reviewing idly the gorgeous clientele, his eye rested ona knot of generals. The figure of the speaker caught his memory by acertain trick of exuberant gesture that recalled a comrade of otherdays. Calling a waiter, he demanded:
"That man over there, decorated with medals and laughing, in thatcluster of fighters, do you see him?"
"The Baron de Ricordo--yes, sir."
"What's his name?"
"The Baron de Ricordo; a great man in the Senate, sir."
"Ah, I thought he resembled some one else. Thanks."
Almost immediately, dissatisfied, he recalled him.
"And his family name? Find that out."
"Monsieur, he is a Barabant, of the well-known Barabants of the Midi.The family is honorable and old. I--"
"Never mind. Ah, one thing more. Is he married? Tell me that."
"Monsieur, he marries this month,--a great marriage."
"Enough. That's sufficient."
At this moment the party pushed back their chairs and came stragglingtoward him.
"When you're young all folly's possible," said the voice of Barabant athis elbow.
"It's a wonder, I say, that we survive to middle age."
"Dame, yes!" replied the baron. "Will you believe it of me--attwenty-five I wept because I could not die for an idea!"
Dossonville, who was on the point of rising, fell back and loweredhis head. The resplendent group swaggered down to the sidewalk, wherepresently a magnificent equipage rolled up, a lady extended her handto the Baron de Ricordo, who, nodding to his comrades, sprang into thecarriage and drove off.
Pushing back the untasted glass, Dossonville rang for his bill.
"Monsieur doesn't take his drink," the garcon objected.
Dossonville, looking down, saw that it was true.
"There is something the matter, monsieur?"
"Exactly."
"Monsieur complains--"
"Ah, I have looked at the bottom of the glass, my friend," he answered;but his glance was in the street. "When one drinks one should never dothat."
Leaving the perplexed garcon to turn over his words, he saunteredamong the thronged tables, and joining the slow procession of thepromenaders, was swept gradually away.
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