WHEN THE STORM BURST
§1
Fortunately the storm only broke after the bulk of the audience was
inside the theatre. The performance was timed to commence at seven, and
a quarter of an hour before that time the citizens of Paris who had come
to applaud citoyenne Vestris, citoyen Talma, and their colleagues, in
Chénier's tragedy, _Henri VIII_, were in their seats.
The theatre in the Rue de Richelieu was crowded. Talma and Vestris had
always been great favourites with the public, and more so perhaps since
their secession from the old and reactionary Comédie Française.
Citizen Chénier's tragedy was in truth of a very poor order; but the
audience was not disposed to be critical, and there was quite an excited
hush in the house when citoyenne Vestris, in the part of "Anne de
Boulen," rolled off the meretricious verses:
"Trop longtemps j'ai gardé le silence;
Le poids qui m'accablait tombe avec violence."
But little was heard of the storm which raged outside; only at times the
patter of the rain on the domed roof became unpleasantly apparent as an
inharmonious accompaniment to the declamation of the actors.
It was a brilliant evening, not only because citoyenne Vestris was in
magnificent form, but also because of the number of well-known people
who sat in the various boxes and in the parterre and who thronged the
foyer during the entr'actes.
It seemed as if the members of the Convention and those who sat upon the
Revolutionary Committees, as well as the more prominent speakers in the
various clubs, had made a point of showing themselves to the public,
gay, unconcerned, interested in the stage and in the audience, at this
moment when every man's head was insecure upon his shoulders and no man
knew whether on reaching home he would not find a posse of the National
Guard waiting to convey him to the nearest prison.
Death indeed lurked everywhere.
The evening before, at a supper party given in the house of deputy
Barrère, a paper was said to have dropped out of Robespierre's coat
pocket, and been found by one of the guests. The paper contained nothing
but just forty names. What those names were the general public did not
know, nor for what purpose the dictator carried the list about in his
pocket; but during the representation of _Henri VIII_, the more obscure
citizens of Paris--happy in their own insignificance--noted that in the
foyer during the entr'actes, citizen Tallien and his friends appeared
obsequious, whilst those who fawned upon Robespierre were more than
usually arrogant.
§2
In one of the proscenium boxes, citizeness Cabarrus attracted a great
deal of attention. Indeed, her beauty to-night was in the opinion of
most men positively dazzling. Dressed with almost ostentatious
simplicity, she drew all eyes upon her by her merry, ringing laughter,
the ripple of conversation which flowed almost incessantly from her
lips, and the graceful, provocative gestures of her bare hands and arms
as she toyed with a miniature fan.
Indeed, Theresia Cabarrus was unusually light-hearted to-night. Sitting
during the first two acts of the tragedy in her box, in the company of
citizen Tallien, she became the cynosure of all eyes, proud and happy
when, during the third interval, she received the visit of Robespierre.
He only stayed with her a few moments, and kept himself concealed for
the most part at the back of the box; but he had been seen to enter, and
Theresia's exclamation, "Ah, citizen Robespierre! What a pleasant
surprise! 'Tis not often you grace the theatre with your presence!" had
been heard all over the house.
Indeed, with the exception of Eleonore Duplay, whose passionate
admiration he rather accepted than reciprocated, the incorruptible and
feline tyrant had never been known to pay attention to any woman. Great
therefore was Theresia's triumph. Visions of that grandeur which she had
always coveted and to which she had always felt herself predestined,
danced before her eyes; and remembering Chauvelin's prophecies and
Mother Théot's incantations, she allowed the dream-picture of the
magnificent English milor to fade slowly from her ken, bidding it a
reluctant adieu.
Though in her heart she still prayed for his deliverance--and did it
with a passionate earnestness--some impish demon would hover at her
elbow and repeat in her unwilling ear Chauvelin's inspired words: "Bring
the Scarlet Pimpernel to his knees at the chariot-wheel of Robespierre,
and the crown of the Bourbons will be yours for the asking." And if,
when she thought of that splendid head falling under the guillotine, a
pang of remorse and regret shot through her heart, she turned with a
seductive smile to the only man who could place that crown at her feet
His popularity was still at its zenith. To-night, whenever the audience
caught sight of him in the Cabarrus' box, a wild cheer rang out from
gallery to pit of the house. Then Theresia would lean over to him and
whisper insinuatingly:
"You can do anything with that crowd, citizen! You hold the people by
the magnetism of your presence and of your voice. There is no height to
which you cannot aspire."
"The greater the height," he murmured moodily, "the dizzier the
fall. . . ."
"'Tis on the summit you should gaze," she retorted; "not on the abyss
below."
"I prefer to gaze into the loveliest eyes in Paris," he replied with a
clumsy attempt at gallantry; "and remain blind to the summits as well as
to the depths."
She tapped her daintily shod foot against the ground and gave an
impatient little sigh. It seemed as if at every turn of fortune she was
confronted with pusillanimity and indecision. Tallien fawning on
Robespierre; Robespierre afraid of Tallien; Chauvelin a prey to nerves.
How different to them all was that cool, self-possessed Englishman with
the easy good-humour and splendid self-assurance!
"I would make you Queen of France in all but name!" He said this as
easily, as unconcernedly as if he were promising an invitation to a
rout.
When, a moment or two later, Robespierre took leave of her and she was
left for a while alone with her thoughts, Theresia no longer tried to
brush away from her mental vision the picture on which her mind loved to
dwell. The tall magnificent figure; the lazy, laughing eyes; the slender
hand that looked so firm and strong amidst the billows of exquisite
lace.
Ah, well! The dream was over! It would never come again. He himself had
wakened her; he himself had cast the die which must end his splendid
life, even at the hour when love and fortune smiled at him through the
lips and eyes of beautiful Cabarrus.
Fate, in the guise of the one man she could have loved, was throwing
Theresia into the arms of Robespierre.
§3
The next moment she was rudely awakened from her dreams. The door of her
box was torn open by a violent hand, and turning, she saw Bertrand
Moncrif, hatless, with hair dishevelled, clothes dripping and
mud-stained, and linen soaked through. She was only just in time to
arrest with a peremptory gesture the cry which was obviously hovering on
his lips.
"Hush--sh--sh!" came at once from every portion of the audience, angered
by this disturbing noise.
Tallien jumped to his feet
"What is it?" he demanded in a quick whisper.
"A perquisition," Moncrif replied hurriedly, "in the house of the
citoyenne!"
"Impossible!" she broke in harshly.
"Hush! . . . Silence!" the audience muttered audibly.
"I come from there," Moncrif murmured. "I have seen . . . heard . . ."
"Come outside," Theresia interjected. "We cannot talk here."
She led the way out, and Tallien and Moncrif followed.
The corridor fortunately was deserted. Only a couple of ouvreuses stood
gossiping in a corner. Theresia, white to the lips--but more from anger
than fear--dragged Moncrif with her to the foyer. Here there was no one.
"Now, tell me!" she commanded.
Bertrand passed his trembling hand through his soaking hair. His clothes
were wet through. He was shaking from head to foot and appeared to have
run till now he could scarcely stand.
"Tell me!" Theresia reiterated impatiently.
Tallien stood by, half-paralyzed with terror. He did not question the
younger man, but gazed on him with compelling, horror-filled eyes, as if
he would wrench the words out of him before they reached his throat.
"I was in the Rue Villedot," Moncrif stammered breathlessly at last,
"when the storm broke. I sought shelter under the portico of a house
opposite the citoyenne's lodgings. . . . I was there a long time. Then
the storm subsided. . . . Men in uniform came along. . . . They were
soldiers of the National Guard . . . I could see that, though the street
was pitch dark. . . . They passed quite close to me. . . . They were
talking of the citoyenne. . . . Then they crossed over to her lodgings.
. . . I saw them enter the house. . . . I saw citizen Chauvelin in the
doorway. . . . He chided them for being late. . . . There was a captain
and there were six soldiers, and that asthmatic coalheaver was with
them."
"What!" Theresia exclaimed. "Rateau?"
"What in Satan's name does it all mean?" Tallien exclaimed with a savage
curse.
"They went into the house," Moncrif went on, his voice rasping through
his parched throat. "I followed at a little distance, to make quite sure
before I came to warn you. Fortunately I knew where you were . . .
fortunately I always know . . ."
"You are sure they went up to my rooms?" Theresia broke in quickly.
"Yes. Two minutes later I saw a light in your apartment." She turned
abruptly to Tallien.
"My cloak!" she commanded. "I left it in the box."
He tried to protest.
"I am going," she rejoined firmly. "This is some ghastly mistake, for
which that fiend Chauvelin shall answer with his life. My cloak!"
It was Bertrand who went back for the cloak and wrapped her in it. He
knew--none better--that if his divinity desired to go, no power on earth
would keep her back. She did not appear in the least afraid, but her
wrath was terrible to see, and boded ill to those who dared provoke it.
Indeed, Theresia, flushed with her recent triumph and with Robespierre's
rare if clumsy gallantries still ringing in her ear, felt ready to dare
anything, to brave any one--even Chauvelin and his threats. She even
succeeded in reassuring Tallien, ordered him to remain in the theatre,
and to show himself to the public as utterly unconcerned.
"In case a rumour of this outrage penetrates to the audience," she said,
"you must appear to make light of it. . . . Nay! you must at once
threaten reprisals against its perpetrators."
Then she wrapped her cloak about her, and taking Bertrand's arm, she
hurried out of the theatre.