by Eugène Sue
The whole Assembly rose with a spontaneous movement, and with cheers acclaimed the motion of Gregory, who continued:
“Kings are to the moral order what monsters are to the physical. Courts are the smithy of crimes and the fastness of tyrants. The history of Kings is the martyrdom of nations. We are all penetrated with this truth — why further discuss it? I ask that my motion be put to a vote, after it shall have been drafted with a preamble comportable to the solemnity of the decision.”
“The preamble of your motion, citizen, is the history of the crimes of Louis XVI,” said Ducot.
The president rose and read:
“THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY DECREES:
“ROYALTY IS ABOLISHED IN FRANCE.”
Shouts of joy, cries of “Long live the Nation! Long live the Republic!” rang from every throat, members of the Convention and spectators in the galleries alike. The tumultuous rejoicing lasted for several minutes.
The session adjourned.
The members of the Convention passed out to cries of:
“Long live the Nation!”
“Long live the Republic!”
“Down with Kings and nobles!”
CHAPTER XI.
BOURGEOIS TURNED SANS-CULOTTE.
IT WAS THE evening of December 10, 1792. Monsieur Desmarais sat talking with his wife in the parlor of their dwelling. The attorney, elected to the Convention in September, no longer was content to affect patriotism in his acts and words; his very appearance now breathed a sans-culottism of the deepest dye. Thus he, once so precise about his person, shaved but once a week; his hair, now powderless, was clipped close like a Roundhead’s; he wore a carmagnole jacket, hob-nailed shoes, wide pantaloons, a distinctive sign of the sans-culottes, and a red-checkered handkerchief rolled around his neck, after the style of Marat. In one of the corners of the parlor, now without mirrors or curtains and almost stripped of furniture, reposed a large square deal box, whose cover bore the words in large penciled characters: “Breakable. Handle with care.” The chest seemed to be built with more care and solidity than is usual with packing-cases. Its cover, instead of being merely nailed, was fastened with hinges; a strong lock held it shut. Madam Desmarais, arrived from Lyons a brief half hour before, had not yet removed her traveling garments. Her face breathed anxiety. Her husband’s features were pale and glowering; he seemed worked up, agitated. His wife continued the conversation:
“You understand, my friend, that, frightened at the rumors which were rife in Lyons on the subject of the triumph of a royalist conspiracy — that Paris was given up to fire and blood, the Convention dissolved, its members exposed to the greatest dangers—”
“It is incomprehensible to me what object anyone could have in propagating such sinister rumors,” replied Desmarais. “We are on the tracks of a royalist plot, built, for a pretext, upon the trial of this unfortunate King; but the plot can not but miscarry. Paris seems seized with vertigo since August 10!”
“However that may be, my friend, frightened by these rumors, I set out for Paris. Besides, it costs me too much to live far from you in these terrible times. The reasons for our separation were the hope of allaying the passion of our daughter for that young Lebrenn, and your lively desire to shield me from the spectacle of the insurrections, the popular passions which were about to sweep over Paris. But our principal aim has not been attained. Charlotte persists in her determination to remain unmarried or to wed that ironsmith. She writes to him and receives his letters. So, then, whether she be at Paris or at Lyons, she will be neither nearer nor further from the scene of her love-affair. And finally, by the very fact that you are exposed to dangers of all sorts, my place is beside you, my friend. I have, then, resolved to leave you no longer. I also am much alarmed on my brother’s score. Here it is more than a month that I haven’t heard from him. Can you tell me what has become of him?”
“I know that he was denounced as a suspect; he probably has remained in Paris, where he is in hiding, and conspiring in favor of the monarchy. I do not in the least doubt it.”
“What do you tell me! My brother denounced! My God! In these times such an accusation is a thing of terror — it may lead to the scaffold!”
“No doubt. But why doesn’t he consent to resign himself, as I have, to howl with the wolves, and roar with the tigers?”
“Poor Hubert,” replied Madam Desmarais in tears. “In the midst of the mortal dangers which he runs, he thinks of my birthday; he sends me a token of his brotherly affection.” And the attorney’s wife, casting her eyes towards the box in the corner, added, “Dear, good brother! How sensible I am of this new proof of his affection!”
“If he truly loved you, he would not risk causing you the greatest chagrin, and compromising me into the bargain!”
“My friend, I can not listen to reproaches against my brother, when he is exposed to such grave perils—”
“And whose fault is it, if not his own, due to his own violent and obstinate character? He abhors, says he, the excesses of the Revolution! Alas, I also execrate them — yet I feign to applaud them. That will at least do to insure our repose and steer clear of the guillotine. Thus, to-morrow, the members of the Convention will hale before the bar the unfortunate Louis XVI, he will be examined in due form, they will give him his trial, and he will be condemned to death. And well, I shall vote for death.”
“O, my God!” murmured Madam Desmarais in cold fear. “My husband a regicide!”
“But how can I escape the fatal necessity?”
“Let the fatality fall, then!” answered Madam Desmarais mournfully, her voice broken with sobs.
“Let us go on,” said advocate Desmarais after a long silence, during which his agitation slowly got the better of itself, “let us go on. Our daughter is then still infatuated with this Lebrenn?”
“She loves Lebrenn as much as, if not more than, before. He informed her in one of his last letters that he had been promoted to certain duties in the Commune of Paris, and she glories in his advancement.”
“In truth, the workingman has been elected a municipal officer. They even proposed to him, such is his influence in the quarter and in the Jacobin Club, to run as candidate for the Convention, but he declined the offer. For the rest, his position with the Jacobins has put him in touch with several leading spirits of the Revolution — Tallien, Robespierre, Legendre, Billaud-Varenne, Danton, and other rabid democrats.”
“Have you renewed your relations with the young man since the day you refused him our daughter’s hand?”
“No; we have met several times at the Jacobins, but I have avoided speaking with him. He has imitated my reserve. For the rest, I must do him this justice — he has always expressed himself in favorable terms concerning me, true to his promise, that, however little reliance he placed in my uprightness and the sincerity of my convictions, he would hold his opinion secret until my acts themselves denounced me. Well, my acts and speeches have been, and will be, in conformity with the necessities of my position. But, too much of this Lebrenn; — I have told you that your unlooked-for return surprised me, but that it chimed in with my recent projects. I have in view for our daughter a marriage to which I attach great importance, for I would become, by the alliance, the father-in-law of a man destined to count among the most influential personages of the Revolution. This future son-in-law is very young, and remarkably good looking; he belongs to the upper bourgeois, even bordering on the nobility. He is, in fine, the intimate friend, the pupil, the devoted supporter, the right arm of Robespierre. This young man, who has already made his mark in the Assembly in two speeches of immense influence, — is Monsieur St. Just.”
“Alas, my friend, in Lyons I heard tell of this young man. His name excites the same execration as that of Robespierre and Marat among the royalists, and even among the moderate republicans of the complexion of the Girondins. Have you considered that?”
“It is precisely because of the aversion which he inspires in the royalists, the Girondins, and
the moderates, that I have fixed my eyes upon St. Just. One of our common friends, Billaud-Varenne, is to make, this very day, overtures to my young colleague on the subject of this marriage, which will be so much to my advantage.”
“My friend, all that you say causes me a surprise and bewilderment that puts my mind in a whirl. You own to experiencing great regret at entering on the path of the Revolution; and, by a strange contradiction, you speak of marrying your daughter to one of the men whom honest folks hold most in horror.”
“No contradiction there, at all. Facts are facts. I am unhappy enough to have for brother-in-law a mad-cap counter-revolutionist. Hubert is a denounced man, and at this very hour, no doubt, is intriguing against the Revolution. All this may compromise me most perilously. Marat has his eye on me. Now, if Marat penetrates my innermost thoughts, I am in great danger. The influence of St. Just, once my son-in-law, would save my head.”
Gertrude the serving-maid interrupted her master by entering the room with an air at once of mystery and affright, and saying to him in a startled voice:
“Monsieur, madam’s brother is here.”
“Hubert here!” cried Desmarais with a start. “I don’t want to see him! Tell him I’m out!”
“Alas, sir, your brother-in-law said to me that he was pursued by the police, and that they were hard on his tracks.”
“Great God!” murmured Madam Desmarais faintly. “My brother!”
“Let him get out of here!” cried the attorney, pale with terror. “Let him get out this instant!”
“You repulse my brother, when he is in danger of his life, perhaps!” exclaimed Madam Desmarais indignantly. And running to Gertrude she demanded, “Where is my brother?”
“In the dining room, taking off his cloak—” But interrupting herself she exclaimed, “Here is Monsieur Hubert, now!”
In fact, it was none other than Hubert himself who appeared in the parlor door. He was laboring under strong emotion; he received his sister in his arms and embraced her effusively.
Advocate Desmarais, a prey to the keenest anxiety, was as yet uncertain as to how his troublesome brother-in-law was to be received. In a whisper he interrogated Gertrude:
“Do you think the porter recognized Monsieur Hubert?”
“With his slouch hat pulled over his eyes, blue glasses on, and his chin hidden in the collar of his great-coat, Monsieur Hubert was unrecognizable.”
The attorney pondered a few seconds, and continued his conversation with Gertrude: “You have a key to the little garden gate? Go open it, and leave it ajar. In ten minutes run to the janitor with a great air of alarm and tell him that the person who just asked for me was a robber, that you just surprised him with his hand in the drawer of the dining-room buffet; that he took flight as soon as discovered, that he ran down stairs in a hurry, and that he probably made good his escape by scaling the garden wall. You understand all I’ve told you? Execute my orders precisely, and not a word on my brother-in-law’s presence.”
“It shall all be done as you wish.”
“Not a word of all this to Jeanette or Germain. Let no one into the parlor for any reason whatsoever, and do not come in yourself until I ring for you.” Then Desmarais added, as one who had a brilliant idea, “For greater safety, I’ll bolt the door, Go!”
Gertrude went out, and Desmarais cautiously bolted the door of the parlor.
“To see you again brother, perhaps at the moment of losing you forever!” sobbed Madam Desmarais addressing Hubert; “the thought is misery to me.”
“Reassure yourself, sister. I know how to baffle the pursuits of which I am the object. I have thrown off the scent the spies who dogged my steps. And certes, they will never come to seek me in the house of a member of the Convention. I ask asylum of your husband till midnight only. At that hour I shall quit his house.”
“Ah, I swear, that do I, that you will have quit it in ten minutes!” retorted the attorney, going over slowly to his wife’s side, at the same moment that Hubert, perceiving the wooden packing-case, said to his sister:
“Ah, there is my box!”
“Poor brother,” began Madam Desmarais, interrupting the financier. “In the midst of your anxieties, you still remembered my birthday. How can I tell you how touched I am at this proof of your affection!”
“I deserve no thanks, my dear sister. The case is not intended for you; it contains some precious objects which I wish to save from the domiciliary visits they make upon suspects.”
“Compromising papers, no doubt!” gasped Desmarais, aside. “Such an object to drop upon me!”
“I thought these things would be safer here than anywhere else, that is why I sent them in the case,” continued Hubert; “but for reasons useless to tell you, your servant and the porter must transport it at once to a house at an address I shall give you.”
“I shall go at once to tell our men,” said Madam Desmarais, moving toward the door. But the lawyer stopped her with his hand, and said coldly:
“Madam, you shall not go out!”
“Pardon, my dear brother-in-law, my not yet having pressed your hand, you whose hospitality I shall share for a few hours,” spoke up Hubert, stepping to meet the lawyer; “but it was so long since I saw my sister, that my first movement was to run to her, and—”
“Citizen Hubert,” broke in the attorney, pale and trembling between rage and fear, “the house of a Mountainist of the Convention shall not serve as the refuge of traitors.”
“Good God!” Madam Desmarais murmured, clasping her hands in fright.
“What, brother-in-law, I ask you for shelter for a few hours, you, my relative, you, erstwhile my friend, and you dare drive me from your door?”
“Citizen Hubert, the enemies of the Republic are my enemies; I shall treat them as political enemies when they fall into my hands. Out you go!”
“Such greetings from you!” stammered Hubert, dazed.
“Brother,” cried Madam Desmarais, “do not believe what my husband says! He is incapable of committing such an act of infamy. It was only a few moments ago that he was cursing the excesses of the Revolution.”
“Wretch!” shrieked Desmarais, seizing his wife by the wrist. “Will you hold your peace!” Then, turning to his brother-in-law, “Citizen Hubert, if you do not leave this building on the instant, I shall send for the patrol of the Section, and have you arrested.”
“Ah!” cried Hubert with indignation. “I come to ask a relative for a few hours’ refuge, and the coward, for fear of being compromised, wishes to send me to the scaffold!”
As Hubert pronounced these last words, Gertrude rapped at the door and called in a quaking voice:
“Open, open! The commissioner of the Section, in his scarf of office, is here with the mounted police. He is coming upstairs.”
Hubert drew from his coat pockets a brace of double-barreled pistols, cocked them, and said in a low voice:
“I shall sell my life dear; but, by the thousand gods! my first bullet will be for you, my coward and traitor brother-in-law!”
Advocate Desmarais leaped to the door and drew back the bolt. His wife, struck with a sudden inspiration, and displaying, in the terror which seized her, an unwonted strength, dragged her brother into her bed-chamber, which opened on the parlor, slammed the door after her, and shot the bolt into its socket.
CHAPTER XII.
HOWLING WITH THE WOLVES.
WHILE HUBERT WAS thus perforce following his sister to safety, Desmarais did not notice his brother-in-law’s disappearance; for the lawyer, at the moment, was leaving the parlor to meet the commissioner. Contrary to his expectations, he did not find the officer in the ante-room, and was compelled to go as far as the stair-landing, where he encountered him and accompanied him back to the parlor.
The commissioner was a man of cold and rigid physiognomy; in his suite were some gendarmes of the Republic, and several police agents. Bowing to the commissioner, the advocate said:
“Citizen, if I had a son a tr
aitor to the nation, I would myself give him up to the public powers. I would follow the example of Brutus the Roman.” Then stopping short and casting about him looks of stupefaction, he added: “But where has my brother-in-law gone to?”
“That is for me to ask you, Citizen Representative of the people,” rejoined the commissioner. “This disappearance is strange!”
“I commence to see! My wife has let out her brother by her bed-chamber; the rear staircase descends to the court, and from the court the rascal will gain the garden!”
The advocate flung himself against the bedroom door, and beating upon it with both fists, cried breathlessly, “God be praised, the traitor will not escape us!”
“Go tell our people to redouble their watchfulness,” the commissioner ordered two of his men, who went out quickly. Just then the sleeping room door fell beneath the blows of the lawyer. The chamber was empty.
Suddenly one of the two agents burst in out of breath, crying, “Treason! Our man has escaped! Just now two women, one of whom was enveloped in a long furred pelisse, wearing a hat with a heavy veil, appeared at the carriage gate, where two gendarmes were posted. One of the women said: ‘I am Madam Desmarais; I am going out with my daughter.’”
“A lie! for my daughter is here and could not have left her room!”
“Pursue the fugitives,” said the commissioner to some of the men around him; then, turning back toward Desmarais, he continued, in a tone of suspicion: “Citizen Representative, this escape seems to me cleverly planned; but there is still something else to your charge,” indicating the deal chest. “In the name of the law, I summon you to tell me the contents of that case.”
Remembering that Hubert had told his sister he had used the pretext of a birthday present to her to remove some precious articles from domiciliary visitation, the attorney was staggered by the question. But driven by the logic of his hypocrisy further and further along the path in which he thought lay his safety, the miserable man recovered himself with an effort, and said firmly to the commissioner: “Citizen, before replying to your question about the chest, I ask the arrest of my wife, as an accomplice in the escape of a conspirator.”
