Ange Galdemar

“ As it drew nearer, separate sounds were distinguishable; screams, ribald laughter, hooting, degrading clamour, and coarse jokes reached them; all the hatred and fury of the Parisian populace was manifest in those hideous revels. The crowd was ushering the first tumbril into the Rue du Martroy, preceded by the mænads of the guillotine, loathsome, drinkbesotted viragoes, who yelled, and contorted themselves, dancing the Carmagnole in front of the condemned. Discordant strains of revolutionary songs rose above the rumbling of the cart-wheels, the clank of horses' hoofs, and the cracking of whips. ”

“ He an assassin! He a tyrant! No! he was an avenger, an apostle of justice and virtue! He was not responsible for the excesses of a nation who had been enslaved for centuries, and had suddenly cast off their chains. Every conquest was of necessity accompanied by carnage, every revolution left the stains of blood behind!
Clarisse contemplated him with the same astonishment Vaughan had experienced in the forest of Montmorency, when Robespierre had unfolded to the Englishman his projects and visions of universal happiness, which could only be realised by the help of the guillotine. ”

“ His long and successful career of crime has made him forget his habitual prudence. He has betrayed himself at the very moment of triumph, when nothing is wanting to him but the name of king! ... I also was at the Jacobins' yesterday, and I trembled for the Republic when I saw the vast army that flocked to the standard of this new Cromwell. I invoked the shade of Brutus, and if the Convention will not have recourse to the sword of justice to crush this tyrant, I am armed with a dagger that shall pierce his heart! ”

“ Clarisse groaned; she understood! The death on the scaffold, the last ride of those condemned by the Revolutionary Tribunal! Lebas had warned her; it was just the time! The tumbrils would pass there, in that street, under these very windows! Robespierre hastened to close the shutters.
Clarisse, completely unnerved, gave way to grief and despair. So, all those people were doomed to die, because the hour of mercy had not yet come! In a few days, Robespierre had said it himself, in a few days they might be saved! The unfortunate victims must die on the very eve of deliverance! ”

“ Every point was greeted with a thunder of applause as he spoke on, stimulated by a glow of satisfaction which touched the most secret fibres of his being. He felt himself to be for ever and in very deed master of France, acclaimed Dictator, solely by the people's will. Through the fumes of this mad delirium he saw the Convention vanquished, paralysed with fear and amazement. ”

“ But Robespierre, under this railing clamour and abuse, does not stir. There he lies, stretched out motionless, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, the very embodiment of silent scorn. Slowly and without a word, he drinks the cup of bitterness; he will drink it so, to the very dregs. A conqueror, he would have been to them a god; vanquished, they nail him to the pillory. Such is the constant perfidy of human nature! And yet he had been so near success, so near! If the Convention had not proved so cowardly at the sitting, had not succumbed directly before Tallien's attack! ”

“ How many had the long-awaited cry of deliverance on their lips: "Down with the scaffold!" Only they dared not speak out! If but one had the courage to give utterance to that cry, there would be enough brave men found in the crowd to take it up and re-echo it, carrying the more timid along with them. When once a move is made the multitude will quickly follow.
Clarisse looked at him. A new thought had dawned on her mind, a horrible thought!
What if Robespierre should have Olivier arrested without knowing who he was? ”

“ The excesses of an arbitrary government, added to universal discontent, had led to the Revolution. But this act of deliverance and social regeneration was unhappily to develop even worse excesses. The Reign of Terror was now raging. Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette had perished on the scaffold, followed by a large number of nobles and priests, victims of the tempest now at flood, and drowning in its crimson tide numberless victims with no respect of persons. The whole nation, in the country and in Paris, was perishing in the iron grasp of a new and more despotic government. ”

“ Robespierre groaned in despair. Would she not understand, it was his death she was crying out for, her own death too, and the death of her niece? He had only to attempt to save those unhappy victims, and the crowd would at once turn upon him with the fury of wild beasts! He would be accused of treason by the sans-culottes, and the fishwives dancing yonder under the windows and howling the Carmagnole! He would be cut to pieces by the swords of the prison escort, crushed under the cartwheels, and cast into the gutter by the rabble for having dared to arrest the reign of Terror! ”

“ He put on an air of indifference, making a détour of the prison, carelessly examining everything to avert suspicion. At last, thoroughly worn out, he moved away, vaguely hoping to find a happy inspiration in some lonely spot, where he could be more master of himself.
To whom could he turn for assistance? He knew no one. All the friends of his family, formerly settled in Paris, were now either abroad or in prison, if they had not perished on the scaffold or in the war. And then he thought of the Englishman Vaughan. ”

“ But then, as the watchman said, he had not killed the victims; his name had not been inscribed on these walls as a term and brand of infamy and hatred.
That writing on the wall seemed to be dancing before his eyes. "Robespierre, assassin; your turn will come!" So this was the cry which rose from every breast! If he was vanquished in the morrow's struggle, if he had to ascend the scaffold without having accomplished the act of social regeneration of which he had so long dreamt, he would leave behind him the execrated memory of a despot and bloodthirsty tyrant! ”

“ Robespierre was grieved and distressed beyond measure. Clarisse did not know what she was saying! How could he stop the tumbrils, arrest that crowd, composed of the very scum of the nation? Why, there was not one self-respecting man among them! Nothing but a mob mad with the lust of blood. The only power they feared or respected was the Terror—the Scaffold! He, Robespierre, their idol? Nay, he was not! Their idol was the executioner! To fight single-handed against such a besotted, blinded rabble would be madness, sheer madness! ”

“ Robespierre descended to the garden soon after daybreak, inhaling the fresh morning air, wandering under the shade of those great trees where Rousseau used to walk, or sitting in his favourite nooks; dreaming the while, his soul drinking to the full the infinite sweetness of Nature's magic charms, quickened into life at the rosy touch of morn. He would busy himself in rustic pursuits, botanising, or gathering periwinkles, the master's favourite flowers; thus occupied he used to prolong his walk into the forest of Montmorency, which seemed but a continuation of the garden. ”

“ These holidays were shorter since Monsieur de Pontivy recommenced his duties as councillor to the Parliament which the King had just re-established, and Clarisse began again to feel lonely, so lonely that she looked forward impatiently to the dinner-hour, when the young secretary brought with him some gay reports and rumours of Paris, planted germs of poetry in her soul, and initiated her into those charming trifles which constitute fashionable life. ”

“ They surround the accused, and push them towards the door. Robespierre walks with head erect, and folded arms between two gendarmes. He does not even cast a glance on the crowd who had hailed his entrance with loud cheers, and who now hiss and hoot him. The public are descending and mix with the deputies. The whole floor is crowded. The Convention-hall where a loud, incessant buzzing is all that can be heard, resembles a gigantic beehive, for no single voice is distinguishable in the tempestuous clamour that follows that solemn act at last accomplished. ”

“ It was Barère's. Drops of gall were already falling into his cup of joy. But as the people began to applaud at the lower end of the gardens, Robespierre advanced to the edge of the tribune, and bowed. The expectant crowd swayed as one man towards him, unwilling to lose a single gesture or a single word. So stood the Incorruptible, enwrapped and penetrated by the inebriating vapours of adulation and the perfume of all the palms and bouquets that rose as incense at his feet. ”

“ And she fell on Clarisse's shoulder, thoroughly broken by the terrible emotions of the day.
At this moment the cart reached the street, and passed close to Olivier, who commenced mechanically to follow it, while the people of the quarter, seated at their doors, and accustomed to this daily spectacle, looked on with indifference. But at a bend in the road Olivier let the cart go out of sight, lost in reflection. He walked straight on as a man in a dream, stopping on the quay to look down at the Seine. ”

“ But Leonard had already thought of this. "You cannot remain here," he said. "Your name, your connections, your fortune—everything denounces you, and exposes you to the ill-treatment of so-called patriots. You must leave Pontivy."
"Go? But where?" asked Clarisse, "Abroad? I have already thought of that, but how can I reach the frontier with my young people without passport, and without guide?"
"The surest way to find shelter and safety is to remain in France," Leonard answered. "Listen to my plans. I have a cottage hidden among the trees in a little hollow of the forest of Montmorency. ”

“ She rose with difficulty, every limb trembling, and escaped from the crowd with Thérèse and Olivier through an open door. Some men advanced to carry Robespierre away, who looked already like a corpse, with his eyes closed, and the blood gushing through his lips. One man held his head, another his legs, and thus the ghastly burden was carried through the crowd of assailants, who stood aside to make way for it. Clarisse, standing in one of the doorways as the gloomy procession passed, clung to her son, imploring his pity. ”

“ Robespierre rises, his lips quivering at the insult, and attempts to reply from his place.
"Yes, you lie!" continues Billaud. "You left us because you did not find among us either partisans, flatterers, or accomplices in your infamous projects against Liberty. Your sole aim has been to sow dissension, to disunite us that you might attack us singly and remain in power at the head of drunkards and debauchees, like that secretary who stole a hundred and fifty thousand livres, and whom you took under your wing, you, the Incorruptible, you who make such boast of your strict virtue and integrity!" ”

“ Lebas had now closed his note-book, deep in thought. Clarisse? Olivier's mother was called Clarisse? But the woman who implored Robespierre's clemency for her son, aged nineteen, the woman whose letter he had refused to read just now ...
"Was signed Clarisse?" cried Robespierre breathlessly.
"Yes," replied Lebas.
"That is his mother!"...
And pointing to the young man, who was on the brink of swooning.
"You see, it is she! Look at him; there is no mistaking, it is she!"
"She is at the prison of La Bourbe, then," said Lebas. ”

“ Each member carried in his hand a bouquet of flowers and ears of corn.
Robespierre was conspicuous by the difference in his attire, which was of a lighter blue. He walked well ahead of his colleagues, as if to accentuate the distance between himself and them in the eyes of the crowd, who, with keen curiosity, were climbing on stools, on ladders, on the bases of statues, on gates, and even on the trees, to get a better view of him. ”