Robespierre

CHAPTER XII

THE EVE OF THE BATTLE

Robespierre could breathe again. He was once more in the open, the silent stars above him, the Seine flecked with white bars of reflected moonlight, flowing at his feet. But he dared not linger there. He turned quickly, and darted along close to the walls, fearing that for him, as once for Fouquier-Tinville, the water would take the crimson hue of blood. By slow degrees he became calmer. Refreshing gusts of cool night air fanned his fevered brow, and restored him to reality. He thought of Olivier again. If he were not in the Conciergerie, where could he be?

Entering the inner court of the Tuileries, at first he seemed undecided, and then, as if under a sudden impulse, went straight towards the Pavilion of Liberty. The Committee of Public Safety held its meetings there, in the very apartment once occupied by Louis XVI. This committee usually worked far into the night, and Robespierre was sure of finding some one. As he expected, he met Billaud-Varennes and Collot d'Herbois, who were crossing the vestibule of the ground floor at that moment. He accosted them angrily, for the two men, who had been hissed and hooted at the Jacobin Club, now seemed to exult, as though they held some secret threat over his head. The ironical smiles he fancied he saw playing round their lips aggravated his fury.

"So you have released the prisoner I sent to La Force?" he cried.

"Quite true!" replied Billaud-Varennes, relishing Robespierre's discomfiture as a set-off against the Jacobins' hooting.

"For what reason?"

"To cross-examine him."

"Where is he?"

"That is for you to find out."

"I command you to send him back immediately to La Force!"

"We receive no orders from you!"

"Then it is to be war between us? You shall have it, scoundrels! war to the knife! And to-morrow too!" and turning away abruptly, he went towards the steps, and pushed the door open in a violent rage.

Billaud-Varennes and Collot d'Herbois retraced their steps to apprise their colleagues at the Convention of their stormy interview with Robespierre. But on the threshold of the Assembly-room Billaud stopped his companion.

"Wait a moment," he said, "let me cross-examine the young man first."

So saying, he went upstairs to the attics, where Olivier had been locked up ever since five o'clock under the charge of a gendarme, to whom Coulongeon, the Committee's agent, had confided him, with strict orders that the prisoner was to be kept entirely out of sight until the Committee had decided on his fate.

Coulongeon was one of the sharpest detectives of the Committee. It was he who, disguised as a beggar, had been the object of Blount's sudden barks in the forest of Montmorency, where he had witnessed the interview between Robespierre and Vaughan. Driven away by Robespierre's agents, he had gone immediately to the entrance of the forest, expecting vainly the Englishman's reappearance.

On his return to Paris the same evening he had reported his discovery at once to the Committee of Public Safety. Billaud-Varennes rubbed his hands gleefully. He was on the scent of a plot. An Englishman? That could be no other than Vaughan, Fox's agent, who was known to have been already two days in Paris. Ah! Robespierre had secret interviews with him, had he? A plot, of course! It was splendid! Nothing could be more opportune!

"Run quickly, and ascertain if the Englishman is still at the American Consulate, while we draw up the warrant of arrest!" was his immediate order.

But at the Consulate the detective was told that Vaughan had just left Paris. Suspecting a trick, he took other means to continue his inquiries, only to find after all that the Englishman had started for Geneva directly after leaving Montmorency.

The members of the Committee were greatly disappointed on learning that the plot must remain unravelled, for how could they prove the interview without witnesses? Coulongeon was the only one who had seen Robespierre speaking with Vaughan, but he was in the pay of the Committee, and no one would believe him. They rested their hopes on the probable return of the Englishman, but they waited to no purpose, and were finally obliged to abandon the attempt.

One evening, however, Coulongeon had brought the Committee an unlooked-for piece of news. Having had a message to take to the prison of La Bourbe, he had found himself in the Acacia courtyard among the prisoners just at their supper-hour. Two female prisoners had attracted his attention. It seemed to him as if it was not the first time he had seen them, and after searching his memory for a moment, he recognised them as the two women who were with Vaughan in the forest of Montmorency before Robespierre arrived on the scene. Yes, he remembered it all now! It was so! There was not the slightest doubt! The gaoler, when questioned, completely confirmed his suspicions. The women did come from Montmorency, where they had been arrested by Robespierre's orders. "Now we have two witnesses!" Billaud-Varennes cried in delight.

"Three!" the agent interjected. "For, now I come to think of it, there was a young man with them."

"He must be found also! Quick to Montmorency, and bring him back with you!"

At Montmorency, after two days of fruitless search, the detective discovered Clarisse's house in the forest. The gardener on being interrogated replied that he was completely ignorant of the whereabouts of Olivier, who had disappeared the very day his mother and his fiancée were arrested.... Perhaps Leonard the locksmith could tell him. Questioned in his turn, Leonard replied evasively. Coulongeon then informed him who he was, and threatened him with the law, so that Leonard ended by owning that the young man had started the same night for Paris. He swore that was all he knew. Coulongeon, pretending to be quite satisfied, thanked him and went away. But returning soon after he adroitly questioned the neighbours on Leonard's connections and acquaintances. The agent learnt that when the locksmith went to Paris he took up his abode in furnished apartments in the Rue de Rocher, kept by a certain widow Beaugrand.

"Now I am on the right track," thought Coulongeon.

Once back in Paris the agent had little difficulty in making the good woman speak. Did the widow Beaugrand know the young man? Pardieu! She knew him too well! He was the daring insulter of Robespierre, the young madman arrested on the Fête of the Supreme Being who was now imprisoned at La Force.

The joy of the Committee knew no bounds, when they learnt the news on leaving the hall of the Convention on the 8th Thermidor.

Billaud-Varennes, as can be imagined, was also overjoyed.

"We will have the three prisoners out of gaol, at once, and keep them here at hand."

Two orders of release had been immediately drafted, one for the prison of La Bourbe, the other for La Force.

Coulongeon had gone first of all to La Force to fetch Olivier, whom he conducted straight to the Tuileries and locked in a little chamber above the Committee-room under charge of a gendarme. But at the prison of La Bourbe he was too late; the two women had been taken away by Lebas, under an order of release from Robespierre.

On his return the police-agent had sought Billaud-Varennes to apprise him of the result of his errand, but finding that he was away until after the meeting of the Jacobins, he left a sealed note for him with full particulars.

Billaud received this on his return from the Jacobins accompanied by Collot d'Herbois.

"Out of three witnesses, only one is left to us!" he exclaimed on reading it. "The most important one, however! We have the man himself who insulted the traitor! We must cross-examine him directly. It will be amusing."

Robespierre just then appeared on the scene and hastened the examination by his violent outburst.

Billaud-Varennes began to cross-examine Olivier in the little chamber above the Committee-room. The young man knew nothing of the plot. Robespierre might have had an interview with Vaughan in the forest, this was very possible, but he, Olivier, had left just after the Englishman's arrival.

"You spoke to him, I suppose?"

"To whom?"

"To Vaughan."

"Why, yes! I exchanged a few words with him."

"You knew him, then?"

"My mother knew him. He was an old friend of hers."

"She knew then what he came to Montmorency for?"

"Not in the least. It was quite a chance-meeting. He had lost his way, when they..."

"And you know absolutely nothing of what passed after your departure?"

"Nothing, except that my mother and my fiancée were arrested by Robespierre's infamous orders."

Billaud-Varennes left the room greatly disappointed. He wondered if, after all, Olivier was telling the truth.

"However, the young man has the night to reflect over it," he said to himself, as he descended the stair. "I will question him again to-morrow after having conferred with the Committee, perhaps by that time he will have decided to speak! And yet I cannot but think he was sincere."

With this he re-entered the room where his colleagues were assembled. But such an extraordinary scene of animation presented itself when he opened the door that he forgot the object of his visit.

This Committee-room, like the others next to it, formed part of a suite of apartments recently belonging to the King. It offered a strange spectacle, with its mixture of elegance and vulgarity, which said more than words for the ravages of the Revolution.

Over the five doors, two of which opened on to a long corridor, the royal arms surmounted by a crown had been roughly erased. The walls and panels of the doors were covered with printed decrees of the Convention, and tricolour placards were pasted up everywhere. This array of Revolutionary literature struck the observer as at once ominous and pathetic, in the midst of all the grace and beauty of that white and gold reception-room, decorated in the purest Louis XV. style, with its daintily carved cornices and painted ceiling, where Nymphs and Cupids sported in the glowing spring-tide among flowers. The contrast was even more apparent in the furniture. Gilded armchairs covered with rare tapestry, now all torn, stood side by side with plain deal seats, some of which were very rickety. A sideboard laden with eatables and wine-bottles completed the installation of the Terror in the palace of the Tuileries.

Billaud-Varennes was still standing there on the threshold. Collot d'Herbois, surrounded by Barère, Carnot, Prieur, and Elie Lacoste, was violently addressing Saint-Just, Robespierre's friend, who was seated at the table, engaged in writing the speech he was to deliver before the Convention on the morrow. Saint-Just, calm and contemptuous, replied to their insults by a shrug of the shoulders. This disdain exasperated Collot d'Herbois beyond measure, and Saint-Just aggravated him still more by ironical inquiries about the Jacobins' meeting.

"You are nothing more than a traitor!" cried Collot; "it is our indictment you are drawing up there, I suppose?"

"Yes, traitor! threefold traitor!" exclaimed Elie Lacoste. "Traitor and perjurer, you form with Robespierre and Couthon a triumvirate of calumny, falsehood, and betrayal."

Saint-Just, without losing self-possession a moment, stopped in his writing, and coldly offered to read them his speech.

Barère disdainfully refused to listen.

"We fear neither you nor your accomplices! You are but a child, Couthon a miserable cripple, and as to Robespierre..."

At this moment an usher brought in a letter to Barère. He looked uneasy after he had read it, and signed to his colleagues to follow, leaving Saint-Just free to continue his work. In the lobby Barère told them it was a letter from Lecointre announcing the approaching attack upon the Committee by the troops of the Commune, and offering the battalion of his section for their defence.

"It is exactly as I told you!" cried Elie Lacoste. "The leaders of the Commune must be instantly arrested, and with them Robespierre and his two accomplices!"

"Commencing with Saint-Just and his speech," said Collot.

"Robespierre was here just now," observed Billaud-Varennes, who had followed his colleagues out of the room; "he wanted to know what we had done with the prisoner from La Force. We told him we had not to render account to him, whereupon he went away in a rage, crying out, 'You want war? War you shall have then!' We have been warned by the Incorruptible himself, you see!"

"Yes, but we shall crush him through his Englishman! We have witnesses enough now!"

"Nay, unhappily we have not!" replied Billaud.

"What! we have no witnesses?" exclaimed Barère in surprise. "What do you mean? ... Has not Coulongeon...?"

"Coulongeon arrived too late at La Bourbe Lebas had just taken them off, by Robespierre's orders—no one knows whither."

"Oh! the villain! he suspected something, then, and abducted them to suppress their evidence; but we have at any rate the young man from La Force."

"He is upstairs, but he knows nothing."

"He lies, he is a traitor!"

"No, he seemed quite sincere, and he execrates Robespierre; but I shall question him again to-morrow."

"And meanwhile we must resort to stratagem," remarked Barère.

They discussed and debated the question, and all came to the conclusion that Barère was right. Their safety lay in stratagem. After all, there was no immediate peril. Robespierre was not fond of violent measures, he would not break the bounds of the law unless driven to it. It was out of sheer vexation that he had thrown that challenge in Billaud-Varennes' face; and after all, since Saint-Just had again assured them of the Incorruptible's pure intentions, it would be perhaps prudent to dissemble and to disarm the triumvirate by simulating confidence.

On the whole the members of the Committee were undecided, hesitating between two alternatives, one as dangerous as the other. Either they must openly attack Robespierre and overthrow him, and thus add to the already unbounded power of the Committee, which would then more easily crush the Convention; or they must leave the power in Robespierre's hands, who, when once master, would lose no time in annihilating them.

The members returned to the Committee-room where Saint-Just was still writing. They spoke as if they had altered their mind on thinking things over. They regretted their hasty words, for after all the patriotism of Robespierre and his friends had stood a long test. They spoke of precautions to be taken in case of an unexpected attack, for warnings had reached them from every quarter. All this was discussed aloud before Saint-Just, ostensibly to show their complete confidence in him.

Saint-Just, to all appearance the dupe of their hypocrisy, assured them they were unnecessarily alarmed. If the Jacobins and the Commune had formed any projects against the Committee, he would have heard of it. There was certainly considerable excitement in the streets among the people whose anger had been aroused at the calumnies to which Robespierre had been subject. But the Incorruptible would soon calm them down. As far as he, Saint-Just, was concerned, he was ready to forget the somewhat hasty words which one of his colleagues had addressed to him in the heat of the moment.

Collot d'Herbois upon a sign from Barère feigned to regret his hasty speech, which was, of course, he said, the outcome of excitement. It was so easy in these times of anger and enmity to be carried away by the fever of the moment. The dissensions of the Committee were making them the laughing-stock of their enemies.

Saint-Just, cold and impassive as before, quietly assented, and meanwhile continued to draft his speech, and when he had finished put it in his pocket, and looked up at the clock. It was five in morning.

"At ten, the speech will be copied, and I shall read it to you before the sitting, so that there may be no unpleasantness," said Saint-Just, rising to go.

Taking his hat and stick, he moved off, the others, to all appearance reassured, pretending to do likewise; but Saint-Just had no sooner disappeared than they returned to the Committee-room. It was agreed to send for the three leaders suspected of assisting Robespierre in the insurrection: Hauriot, the Commander of the troops; Payan, the Commune agent; and Fleuriot-Lescot, Mayor of Paris. The ushers returned with the two last named, but Hauriot was not to be found. For the space of four hours they retained Payan and Fleuriot-Lescot, smoking, drinking, eating, talking, and discussing, in the sultry and oppressive heat which heralded the near approach of a storm. They thus held them in check for the time being, overwhelming them meanwhile with questions, to which they replied in terms that tended to calm the anxiety of the Committee.

During this time the Parisian populace, who had not slept either, had entered the Convention, the assembly-hall of which, situated also in the palace of the Tuileries, within ear-shot of the Committee, had been filling since five o'clock that morning, though the sitting was not to commence until noon.

Every moment messengers arrived at the Committee-room, ushers out of breath bringing news, messages, and reports in an endless succession, which increased as the hours advanced. Payan and Fleuriot-Lescot had just left, after completely reassuring the Committee. It was now half-past ten, and the sitting was opened. Saint-Just did not put in an appearance, but the thump of crutches was heard in the corridor, announcing the arrival of Couthon, the cripple.

"Where is Saint-Just?"

"He is coming!"

For one hour Couthon kept the Committee in suspense, entertaining them with Saint-Just's favourite theme, Robespierre's single-minded patriotism, but still no Saint-Just appeared. The Committee began to feel annoyed, and soon Carnot, who suspected treachery, spoke out boldly. It was nothing less, he said, than a preconcerted plan between Couthon, Saint-Just, and Robespierre.

Couthon protested.

"You do wrong to speak ill of the patriot Robespierre! You are basely calumniating a friend of your childhood!"

"If I am base, you are a traitor!" retorted Carnot, beside himself with rage.

But Couthon, anticipating a storm, took up his crutches and stumped off, protesting as he went. Sinister sounds now reached the Committee. They had been betrayed! Saint-Just was going to denounce them from the tribune! The document he had been drafting before them, there on that table, was nothing more or less than the indictment of the Committee! Barère had just received trustworthy information to that effect. Robespierre had drawn up a list of eighteen names of those destined for the scaffold. A deputy entered and asked for Billaud-Varennes. He was told that Billaud had just gone out, but would return shortly.

"Ah! Here is Fouché!" some one exclaimed.

It was in truth Fouché, the deputy, who now entered. He was beset with questions. Yes! they were not mistaken, he told them. Robespierre was now going to throw off the mask, and denounce some of his colleagues. "And I am sure he has not forgotten me," added Fouché, ironically.

He was immediately surrounded by eager questioners. The names? Did he know the names? they asked anxiously. Fouché did not know; but everybody was threatened, and each must look after himself; the sitting would soon begin.

All turned their eyes anxiously to the clock. It was not yet noon; they had still twelve minutes! Now another deputy came in, breathless with the news that Robespierre had just entered the Hall of the Convention, with his brother Augustin, Couthon, Saint-Just, Lebas, and all his followers. The galleries, crowded to excess, had received the Incorruptible with loud cheers.

"Hark, the rabble are applauding; he has hired his usual claque," said one.

"That's true," another answered. "Since five this morning the Robespierrists, male and female, have taken possession of the galleries, yelling, feasting, and drinking."

"They are already drunk."

"Well! Let us go and offer our heads to the drunkards!" exclaimed Fouché.

But just then a door on the right opened, and Billaud-Varennes entered. Every one paused.

"Here is Billaud at last."

Billaud was looking anxious, and wiping his brow, worn out with the heat, he asked for a glass of beer. They eagerly questioned him.

"Was it true, then? They would have to fight?"

"Yes! fight to the death. They ought to have listened to him. Robespierre had told him plainly enough that there would be war. And now that they could not prove the plot...."

"What plot?" asked Fouché.

"Ah, yes! It's true; you don't know...."

Billaud made a sign to shut the doors, as Robespierre had spies in all the corridors. The doors securely closed, Billaud-Varennes again told the story of the Englishman. Fouché listened with curiosity. Other members, Vadier, Amar, Voullaud, who had just entered, also followed Billaud's story with keen interest, while those who already knew of the plot, came and went, deep in discussion, waiting for Billaud to finish, to give their opinion.

Billaud-Varennes now produced the order of release for the two women, signed by Robespierre, and brought from the prison of La Bourbe by Coulongeon.

"There can be no doubt. We have in this quite enough to ruin him," said Fouché; "but what about that young man from La Force?"

"I questioned him again closely just now in the next room. He persists in his first statement, which appears to me quite genuine—as genuine as is his rage against Robespierre, whom he regrets, he says, not to have stabbed at the Fête of the Supreme Being."

"Ah! if he had! what a riddance!" was the cry with which one and all greeted Billaud's last words.

"True; but he has not done it," observed Fouché drily. "As to the plot, it has escaped our grasp."

"Not so," some one remarked; "his treason is evident."

A warm discussion ensued. The treachery was obvious to the Committee, but it would not be so in the eyes of the public. It must be proved. And where was the Englishman? Where were the women? To accuse Robespierre thus, without sufficient proof, was sheer folly. The only witness available, the agent Coulongeon, was in the pay of the Committee. Robespierre would make a speech on it, call it a concocted plan, and annihilate his accusers with an oratorical flourish.

"Nothing truer!" remarked another deputy.

"He has only to open his mouth and every one trembles."

"Very well; let us gag him," said Fouché. "It's the only means of putting an end to it all."

They looked at him, not quite catching his meaning. Fouché explained his idea. They had but to drown Robespierre's voice at the sitting by their clamour. They had but to howl, scream, vociferate; the people in the galleries would protest noisily, and their outcry would add to the tumult. Robespierre would strain his voice in vain to be heard above the uproar, and then fall back exhausted and vanquished.

"That's it," they cried unanimously.

Billaud also thought this an excellent idea, and at once began to arrange for letting all their friends know as soon as possible, for Robespierre must be prevented from uttering a single audible word. Every one approved. Just then a door opened.

"Be quick! Saint-Just is ascending the tribune!" called a voice.

"Very well. We may as well commence with him."

And they one and all made for the doors in an indescribable disorder.

"Now for it," cried Billaud, laying his glass down on the sideboard.

But meanwhile Fouché signed to Vadier, Amar, and Voullaud to remain. They looked at him in surprise. Fouché waited for the noise to subside, then assuring himself that no one could overhear him, he confided his fears to them. It was not everything to drown Robespierre's voice. Even arrested, condemned, and on the death-tumbril, his hands bound, Robespierre would still be dangerous; a sudden rush and riot could deliver him, and crush them all! Then lowering his voice, he continued—

"The young madman of whom Billaud spoke just now...."

"Well?"

"Where is he?"

Amar pointed to a door on the left.

"Let him come in!" said Fouché; "I will speak to him in the name of the Committee."

They did not yet quite grasp his meaning, but Voullaud went all the same and opened the door.

"Hush!" said Fouché, "here is the young man!"

Olivier entered, followed by a gendarme, who, on seeing Fouché and the other members, stopped on the threshold. Olivier looked at them indifferently, expecting to be again cross-examined about the Englishman. Fouché had taken his hat and put it on, as if going out.

"Young man, you were the first to charge the despot, whom we are about to fight, with his crimes! This is sufficient to recommend you to the indulgence of the Committee."

As Olivier advanced in astonishment, he continued—

"You may go if you like!"

Fouché turned to the gendarme—

"The citoyen is free!"

The gendarme retired.

Vadier now understood Fouché's idea. Taking up his hat also, he remarked—

"And if our enemy is victorious, take care not to fall again into his clutches!"

Olivier who was preparing to go, stopped suddenly. Unhappily, he said, he had not only himself to tremble for. His mother and fiancée were in prison and Robespierre would revenge himself on them.

"Most probably!" replied Fouché.

"Then the Committee ought to release them also, and with even more reason!"

Fouché shrugged his shoulders regretfully.

It had been the intention of the Committee, but the two prisoners were beyond their reach.

"How?" asked Olivier anxiously.

Simply because they were no longer at the prison of La Bourbe.

Olivier gasped—

"Condemned?"

"Not yet! But Lebas had taken them away with an order from Robespierre."

Here Fouché, picking up the order left on the table by Billaud-Varennes, showed it to Olivier, who read it in horrified amazement.

"Where are they then," he cried.

"At the Conciergerie, where they would be judged within twenty-four hours."

"The wretch! the wretch!"

He implored them that they might be released. The Committee were all-powerful!—They, powerful, indeed? They looked at him pityingly. He believed that? What simplicity! How could they release the two women when they were on the point of being sacrificed themselves? They would have difficulty enough to save their own heads!

"To-morrow," continued Fouché, "we shall most likely be with your mother, at the foot of the scaffold."

Olivier looked at them in terror. Was it possible? Was there no one that could be found to kill this dangerous wild beast?

Fouché, who had consulted his colleagues in a rapid glance, now felt the moment ripe.

"Assassinate him, you mean?" he asked.

Olivier lost all self-control. Is a mad dog assassinated? He is killed, that's all! What did it matter if the one who did it were torn to pieces; he would have had his revenge, and would save further victims.

"Certainly," said Fouché, "and if Robespierre is victorious, it is the only chance of saving your mother."

"But don't rely on that!" Vadier remarked.

Amar went even further.

"Patriots like Brutus are not often found!" he said.

But Olivier cried out in his fury that only one was wanted, and then looked about for the door.

"Which is the way out?"

Vadier pointed to the exit.

"Thank you, citoyens! ... Adieu! au revoir!"

The four men silently watched him disappear, and then looked at each other.... Would he do it? It was not impossible!

"Meanwhile, let us go and howl!" suggested Fouché.

And they rushed into the Convention-room.

CHAPTER XIII

A BROKEN IDOL

Saint-Just is in the tribune. Collot d'Herbois occupies the presidential chair, Collot who, at two in the morning, suspecting Saint-Just's treachery, had openly charged him with it. War is in the air, and every member is at his post.

Fouché looks round for Robespierre as he crosses to his seat. There he is; in the semicircle before the bust of Brutus, at the foot of the tribune which he seems to guard like a vigilant sentinel.

"He is dressed as he was at the Fête of the Supreme Being," whispers Fouché ironically to his neighbour.

Yes, the Incorruptible has on his sky-blue coat, white-silk embroidered waistcoat, and nankeen knee-breeches buttoned over white stockings, nor has he omitted the powder and the curls. What a strange figure, with his dapper daintiness, his old-fashioned attire, in that seething furnace of fifteen hundred people, actors and spectators, so closely packed, and, most of them with bared breasts, suffocating in the awful heat which oppresses them! The sans-culottes up in the gallery have even taken off their traditional red nightcaps, which they hang on the handles of their sword-sticks like bloodstained trophies.

It is as they expected. Since five the hall has been taken possession of by Robespierrists. All the worst scum of Paris has gathered there; all the bloodhounds of the Revolution, all the riff-raff who accompany the death-tumbrils to the scaffold to the song of the Carmagnole; fish-wives and rowdies, recruited and hired at twenty-four sous apiece to drown with their vociferations every hostile attempt made against the idol of the Commune.

This brutish mob, reeking of sausages, pressed meat, gingerbread and beer, eating and drinking, poison the atmosphere of the Hall.

Robespierre's arrival at twelve o'clock is hailed by repeated rounds of loud applause, which he acknowledges with a gracious bow, proud and smiling. Turning to Lebas who accompanies him, he remarks, "Did I not tell you it would be a success?"

So certain is he of victory that before starting he had set the Duplays quite at ease as to the issue of the struggle. "Believe me," he had said, "the greater part of the Convention are unbiassed."

But suddenly, at the commencement of the sitting, when Saint-Just appears in the tribune, a counter movement makes itself felt in the assembly. Robespierre realising the importance of at once preventing any hostile demonstration, advances to the foot of the tribune, determined to daunt his opponents by a bold front. Saint-Just at once renews the accusation brought against the Committee by the Incorruptible the day before, accentuating it without mentioning names.

It is now that the anti-Robespierrist plot, admirably planned, begins to work.

Tallien, one of the conspirators, breaks in upon Saint-Just violently.

"Enough of these vague accusations!" he cries. "The names! Let us have the names!"

Saint-Just, encouraged by a look from Robespierre, simply shrugs his shoulders, and continues. But his voice is immediately drowned in a thundering clamour, and in spite of the vehement protestations of Robespierre, he is unable to finish his speech. The anti-Robespierrist cabal are playing their part well. They simply roar.

Billaud-Varennes demands a hearing. He is already in the tribune, greeted by sustained applause.

Robespierre, growing excited, protests and persists in speaking, but his voice is drowned in cries of "Silence! Silence! Let Billaud-Varennes speak!" Collot d'Herbois rings the president's bell, and adds to the noise under the pretext of repressing it.

"Let Billaud-Varennes speak! Let Billaud-Varennes speak!"

But Robespierre continues to protest—

"Don't listen to that man! His words are but poisonous drivel!"

Immediately loud cries are heard—

"Order! Order! Robespierre is not in the tribune! Billaud-Varennes is in the tribune! Silence! Silence!"

And Robespierre, with a shrug of contempt, returns to his place.

Silence being gradually restored, Billaud-Varennes begins to speak.

"I was at the Jacobins' yesterday; the room was crowded with men posted there to insult the National representatives, and to calumniate the Committee of Public Safety which devotes its days and nights to kneading bread for you, to forging arms and raising armies for you, to sending them forth to victory!"

A voice is heard in approval, and fresh applause breaks out; but the gaze of the orator is fixed on that part of the assembly called the Mountain. He seems to recognise some one, at whom he points with lifted arm.

"I see yonder, on the Mountain, one of the wretches who insulted us yesterday. There he stands!"

This is the signal for renewed uproar. Several members spring up and turn round towards the person indicated.

"Yes, yes, behold him!" cries Billaud.

The agitation increases. Cries of "To the door with him! Turn him out!" are heard. The man pleads innocence, and tries to weather the storm, but seeing the majority against him escapes as best he can, mixes with the crowd and disappears. Silence is with difficulty restored among the infuriated members.

The orator continues, throwing violent and insidious phrases broadcast among the assembly like lighted fire-brands. His thrusts strike nearer home now; he accuses Robespierre openly to his face.

"You will shudder when I tell you that the soldiery is under the unscrupulous control of that man who has the audacity to place at the head of the section-men and artillery of the city the degraded Hauriot, and that without consulting you at all, solely according to his own will, for he listens to no other dictates. He has, he says, deserted the Committees because they oppressed him. He lies!"

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!"

Laughter, mixed with some applause is heard, but Robespierre shrugs his shoulders contemptuously at such vulgar abuse. Fouché, from his bench, laughs loudly with the rest, and leaning towards his neighbour, whispers—

"Clever tactics! ... Billaud is splendid!"

The speaker, in conclusion, appeals to the patriotism of the assembly, and implores the members to watch over its safety. If they do not take energetic measures against this madman, he says, the Convention is lost, for he only speaks of purifying it that he may send to the scaffold all those who stand in the way of his personal ambition. It is, he insists, the preservation of the Convention which is at stake, the safety of the Republic, the salvation of their country.

"I demand," so runs his peroration, "that the Convention sit permanently until it has baffled the plans of this new Catiline, whose only aim is to cross the trench which still separates him from supremacy by filling it with our heads!"

Thunders of applause greet Billaud-Varennes' words; shouts, cheers, and waving of hands which continue long after he has left the tribune.

Robespierre now leaves his seat in great agitation, crying—

"It is all false, and I will prove it!"

But his words are again drowned in an uproar of voices, and cries of "Silence! Silence!"

"I will give the traitor his answer!" exclaims Robespierre, trying to make himself heard above the tumult which increases at every word he utters, so that his voice is now completely lost. Some of the members rush into the semicircle, forming a living rampart round the tribune.

The din is dominated by a new voice from the presidential chair.

"Silence, let no man speak!" it thunders forth.

It is Thuriot, who has just replaced Collot d'Herbois in the chair.

"I demand a hearing!" vociferates the Incorruptible, "and I will be heard!"

"You shall not!"

"I wish to speak!" cries a deputy, taking at the same time possession of the tribune.

It is Vadier.

Thuriot rings the president's bell.

"Vadier has speech!"

"Yes, Vadier! Vadier!" members exclaim from all sides.

Robespierre continues to protest, disputing frantically with his neighbours in his fury.

"It is infamous treachery! Infamous!"

Again they call out—

"Vadier! Silence! Vadier! Vadier!"

"Citoyens!" commences Vadier—

But the speaker is interrupted by Robespierre who furiously persists in claiming a hearing.

"Compel him to be quiet!" cries some one.

Thuriot rings his bell, and orders Robespierre to let Vadier speak.

"Vadier is to speak! Silence!"

Robespierre once more resigns himself to his fate, and returns to his place.

The tumult dies away in a low murmur, above which Vadier's mellifluous voice is heard.

"Citoyens!" he begins, "not until the 22nd Prairial did I open my eyes to the double-dealing of that man who wears so many masks, and when he cannot save one of his creatures consigns him to the scaffold!"

Laughter and applause run round the assembly. Thus encouraged, Vadier continues—

"Only listen to him. He will tell you, with his usual modesty, that he is the sole defender of Liberty, but so harassed, so discouraged, so persecuted! ... And it is he who attacks every one himself!"

"Hear, hear!" shouts a voice. "Excellent! That's it, exactly!"

"He says," continues Vadier, "that he is prevented from speaking. Yet, strange to say, no one ever speaks but he!"

This new sally is hailed with renewed roars of laughter, and on every side members are convulsed with merriment. Robespierre writhes in his seat, casting glances of hatred and contempt around him.

But Vadier is in the right mood, and goes on—

"This is his regular refrain: 'I am the best friend of the Republic, and as So-and-so has looked askance at me, So-and-so conspires against the Republic, since I and the Republic are one!'"

Again laughter and cheers. "Very good, Vadier! That's it, Vadier!"

By this time the orator's ironical and facetious allusions have served their purpose well, covering Robespierre with ridicule, and lowering him in the eyes of many who were still wavering, hardly daring to join the opposition.

But Vadier, carried away by success, wanders presently from the main point, and loses himself in a maze of petty details. He repeats anecdotes going the rounds of taverns and wine-shops, speaks of Robespierre's spies dogging the heels of the Committee, and quotes his personal experience. The attention of the assembly begins to flag. Robespierre feels this and, taking instant advantage of it, tries to bring the Convention back to a sense of its dignity.

"What! can you give credence to such arrant nonsense?"

But Tallien has realised the danger, and rushing towards the tribune cries—

"I demand a hearing! We are wandering from the main question!"

"Fear not! I shall return to it!" replies Robespierre, who has now reached the semicircle, and tries to enter the tribune by another stairway.

But several members standing on the steps push him back.

"No! we will have Tallien! Tallien!"

"After me!" cries Robespierre, still struggling.

"Tallien! Tallien has speech now!"

But Robespierre climbs up by the banister with the fury of a madman.

"Unjust, infamous judges! Will you then only listen to my enemies!"

The Incorruptible is answered by the one cry rising from a hundred throats.

"Silence! Order! Order! Tallien! Tallien!"

Tallien is in the tribune.

"Citoyens!" he breaks out in a stentorian voice.

"Hold! Scoundrel!" shouts Robespierre, desperately.

"Have the madman arrested!" cries a voice in the crowd.

Robespierre still does his utmost to force a passage on the stairway.

"I will speak! I will be heard, wretches! I will speak!"

The uproar increases, aggravated by Robespierre's boisterous pertinacity. The jingling of Thuriot's bell at last restores order, though not without difficulty.

The opening words of Tallien's speech are already audible, amidst enthusiastic cheers. Robespierre, held firmly by some of the deputies, has ceased his struggles, and stands on the steps in an indignant attitude, his features twitching convulsively, his eyes, glaring in hatred, fixed on the new speaker who is preparing to hurl at him another shower of insults.

"The masks are torn away!" cries Tallien.

"Bravo! Bravo!"

"It was the speech delivered yesterday in this very hall, and repeated the same evening at the Jacobin Club, that brought us face to face with this unmasked tyrant, this vaunted patriot, who at the memorable epoch of the invasion of the Tuileries and the arrest of the King, only emerged from his den three days after the fight..."

Sneers and hisses reach Robespierre, repeated up to the very steps of the tribune, below which he stands.

"This honourable citizen, who poses before the Committee of Public Safety as champion of the oppressed, goes home, and in the secrecy of his own house draws up the death-lists which have stained the altar of new-born Liberty with so much blood!"

Renewed cheers and cries of "Hear! hear!" rise from nearly every seat in the hall.

"But his dark designs are unveiled!" continues Tallien. "We shall crush the tyrant before he has succeeded in swelling the river of blood with which France is already inundated. 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!"

Tallien makes a movement as if to rush on Robespierre dagger in hand; but he is arrested by a burst of unanimous applause. A hundred deputies have risen and are calling out: "Bravo, Tallien! Bravo!"

The orator, in an attitude of defiance, gazes steadily at Robespierre, who, grasping convulsively at the railings of the tribune, screams himself hoarse, challenging Tallien and the deputies around, while they answer him with abuse, shaking their fists in his face. It is a veritable Babel of cries, appeals, and insults. The President, now upstanding, vainly tries to restore order with his bell.

At last there is a lull, of which Robespierre attempts to take advantage.

"Vile wretches!" he cries, "would you condemn me unheard?"

But he is answered by a telling home-thrust—

"It is your own Prairial law we are putting into force!"

And applause breaks out again louder than ever.

Robespierre, tired of struggling against the rough gang on the stairway, descends to the centre of the semicircle, and addresses the deputies of the Mountain.

"Give me a hearing! citoyens! I pray you give me speech!"

He was answered by an ominous cry—

"No! no! The arrest! To the votes for the arrest!"

To the votes! The arrest! Robespierre recoils in terror at the fearful words. His looks travel to the deputies of the centre, those of the Plain as they are called.

"It is to the Plain I address myself and not to these traitors!" he exclaims.

But the Plain remains impassive.

Shouts are now heard from all sides, "The arrest! The arrest!"

Not a single voice mediates in his favour! Not one dares to defend his cause! The crowd in the gallery have remained silent and unmoved from the very outset of the stormy scene.

A cry of anguish rises to Robespierre's lips. "Villains! Wretches!" he gasps.

But his voice is again drowned.

"You are the villain! To death with the tyrant! To death with him! To the vote for his arrest! To the vote for his arrest!"

Robespierre, now completely exhausted, makes one supreme effort, addressing himself to Thuriot, who is still vainly trying to restore silence with his bell.

"President of assassins, for the last time I demand the right of speech."

"No! No!" cry all the deputies.

"Then decree my murder...."

But his voice breaks, and the last word is lost in a hoarse cry.

"It is Danton's blood that chokes you!"

Robespierre, livid at the taunt, turns to the interrupter.

"Danton? It is he, then, you will avenge? Why did you not protect him, cowards?"

Replies are hurled at him from every corner. Had he not gagged Danton's defenders? Now they were going to avenge him! Now their turn had come!

"Did you not hound him to his death, you curs?" shouts Robespierre, with one last cry of rage.

But a pregnant remark falls on the assembly and hastens the end.

"It is hard work, indeed, to drag down a tyrant!"

There is no more hope for Robespierre.

This interruption recalls the Convention to the danger that threatens them. The turmoil is re-doubled. Tallien, from the tribune, which he has not yet quitted, demands of the president that the traitor's arrest be put to the vote.

"To the vote! To the vote!" echoes through the Hall.

But suddenly an unexpected incident attracts general attention.

A deputy advances to the centre of the semi-circle: "I demand to share my brother's fate, as I have striven to share his nobler deeds."

It is Augustin Robespierre, who had returned to Paris the day before, and, acting on a generous impulse, thus offers the sacrifice of his life, a sacrifice that is accepted out of hand.

"The arrest of the brothers Robespierre!"

"And mine!" calls out Lebas proudly, joining the two.

"And Saint-Just!" cries a voice.

"And Couthon!"

"To the vote! To the vote!"

The president has risen. He will put these arrests to the vote when silence is restored.

"Silence for the voting! Silence!"

"Every one to his seat!"

The deputies take their respective places. Then in the deep and awful silence which follows, under the strained gaze of the mob in the gallery, the president speaks—

"Citoyens, I put to the vote, by standing and sitting, the arrest of Maximilien Robespierre, of Augustin Robespierre, of Couthon, of Saint-Just, and of Lebas. Let those who vote for these arrests stand up."

A hundred deputies rise. They are those of the Mountain.

Seeing the men of the Plain remain motionless, a ray of hope cheers Robespierre's despair.

Since the centre refuses to vote for his arrest, they must be, surely, on his side.

"Oh, ye at least, righteous men of the Plain!" he pleads.

Those of the Plain start, draw themselves up, then silently and spontaneously rise to a man! It is the death-blow! The whole assembly are now standing. The arrests are unanimously voted.

Robespierre is lost. He totters, and nearly falls on a bench at the foot of the tribune.

The president now officially announces the result of the voting amidst deafening shouts of triumph. The ushers advance to arrest Robespierre, but he rises, livid with rage, and thrusts them aside.

The President sees this.

"Robespierre refuses to obey! Ushers, call in the gendarmes!"

The whole assembly echo his words, and shout: "The gendarmes! Bring in the gendarmes!"

The spectators in the gallery rise in their excitement and join in the general clamour.

"Vive la Liberté! Vive la Liberté!"

Robespierre staggers under these crushing blows, and shrieks in his despair—

"Liberty, indeed! She is no more! The triumph of those ruffians is her death-knell!"

But the guards have entered. 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.

A cry rises above the universal hum: "Long live the Convention!" but is instantaneously succeeded by another more mighty and prevailing shout: "Long live the Republic!"

Meanwhile the accused have disappeared.

CHAPTER XIV

THE KNELL OF THE TOCSIN

Urbain, who had witnessed Robespierre's signal defeat and downfall from a seat in the gallery, ran immediately to the Rue du Martroy, to warn Clarisse and Thérèse that their retreat at the Hôtel de Ville was no longer safe or secure.

The man found Clarisse in the drawing-room. At the announcement of the fearful news, the mother's first thought was for her son.

"Then Olivier is lost!" she cried.

In Robespierre lay her only hope, for Robespierre alone could tear him from the grasp of the Committee. Now that Robespierre was vanquished and powerless, what would become of Olivier? Urbain, though he himself felt apprehensive, tried to reassure Clarisse, and at this moment Thérèse entered the room. She had heard all! What! Robespierre? Their safety, Olivier's safety, was in the hands of Robespierre! She came forward, and asked in amazement—

"What! the man that was here yesterday, our protector, was—"

"Yes, it was he!" answered Clarisse, through her tears, "your grandfather's former secretary."

As Thérèse, still trembling from the shock of hearing that name, was about to answer, Clarisse added hastily—

"Hush, child! Forget all his past, and think of him only as he was yesterday! He is now vanquished and fallen, and with him, alas! falls our last hope!"

Thérèse, putting aside her own fears before her aunt's uncontrollable grief, mastered her emotion and drove back the tears which rose to her eyes, to dry those of Clarisse, speaking words of comfort and hope which she herself could not feel.

"Do not give way to despair, mother! God will watch over us.... We have implored Him so much!"

Urbain also tried to comfort her by promising to keep her informed of whatever happened. There was some talk of an insurrection of the Commune, he told her, of an attack on the Convention by an armed force, headed by Coffinhal, who was entirely devoted to Robespierre. Who could tell whether the Incorruptible's vengeance might not be brooding! Once rescued, he would again be all-powerful, and change the face of affairs!

"With him, one never knows what may happen!" continued Urbain hopefully. "He has so many resources, and he is, besides, so popular!"

Clarisse, worn out with grief, was, of necessity, resigned.

"May God's will be done!" she sighed. "I shall wait for you here."

Urbain left them, and the two women knelt in prayer.

The storm which had hung threateningly over Paris all day now burst out. Night had just set in when streaks of lurid light shot through the darkness, heralding a thunder-storm. Suddenly the sound of a bell was heard. It grew louder and louder, pealing a signal of alarm.

Clarisse had risen and stood erect and pale.

"The tocsin!" she gasped, and then ran to the window, followed by Thérèse.

Troops could be discerned in the distance, brandishing pikes and guns.

A shout reached the two women—

"Down with the Convention!"

Other cries were raised.

"Call out the Sections! Call out the Sections! Long live the Incorruptible!"

The roll of drums was heard. They were beating to arms! Horsemen galloped past in great disorder. Beyond doubt it was an insurrection!

Then some one knocked, and the two women turned.

"Come in!" cried Clarisse.

Urbain appeared, breathless and bathed in perspiration.

"I told you so! Robespierre has been rescued!"

"Rescued!" exclaimed both women, unable to conceal their joy.

"Yes! rescued on the way to the Conciergerie, and carried in triumph to the Hôtel de Ville, where he now is, with his brother and his friends, Lebas, Couthon, and Saint-Just, rescued with him! It is war to the knife between the Communes and the Convention. Both parties are arming. Coffinhal has had to fall back on the Hôtel de Ville."

The cries outside grew louder and nearer, while the tocsin still rang out.

"To arms! To arms! Long live the Incorruptible!"

"Do you hear? They are stirring up the Sections! They will make a new attack on the Tuileries!"

"And what is to become of us?" asked Clarisse, "and of my son?"

"I don't know about your son. But Citoyen Robespierre has thought of you two. It was he who has sent me."

"To tell us?..."

"To tell you that you are no longer safe here. The street is guarded by sectioners. They might come up here at any moment to fire from the windows in case of attack. I have orders to conduct you to the Hôtel de Ville, where Citoyen Robespierre has provided for your safety, but he wishes to see you first. You must wait for him in the antechamber of the Commune's Council Hall, where he is at this moment conferring with his colleagues. He will join you as soon as he is at liberty; you have only to follow me. This room communicates directly through a corridor with the Hôtel de Ville."

"Then let us go!" said Clarisse; and, taking Thérèse by the hand, she followed the man.

The two women crossed a suite of rooms and corridors where officials came and went in hot haste. Urbain led the way, turning now and then to direct them aright. Presently he stopped and said, pointing to a door—

"It is in here!" and he opened it.

Clarisse and Thérèse now found themselves in a room decorated with Revolutionary emblems, the walls covered with a greenish paper. Two candlesticks stood on the mantelpiece.

"It was here Citoyen Robespierre told me to bid you wait. He is in the next room attending a meeting in the Commune's Council Hall."

Whilst he spoke Urbain indicated a door, a little way from that by which the two women had entered, behind which a confused murmur of voices was audible.

"I will go and let him know you are here," he said.

The two women were now alone. Clarisse cast a hasty glance round. The apartment was very plainly furnished; in fact, almost void of furniture. Against a panelling between two doors on the left was a raised platform, on which stood a large copper-embossed table. At the foot of the platform were a couple of chairs and an armchair, the only other furniture of a room which had all the gloomy appearance of a deserted vestibule.