THE ARREST
The two men measured each other from head to foot with rapid glances;
the one with curiosity, the other with mistrust; and, as if the
letter of introduction had not sufficed, Robespierre requested the
Englishman to give his name. Vaughan complied, thinking it
unadvisible to bandy words with such a personage. He it was, he
explained, who on his arrival from London had written to Robespierre
the day before, asking the favour of an interview. He had been in
Paris two days, and was staying at the American Consulate, under the
name of Martin, but his real name was Vaughan--Benjamin Vaughan, one
of the Whig members of the Opposition in the House of Commons. He
then unfolded to Robespierre the object of his mission, telling him
how he had been sent by the illustrious Fox, the fierce opponent of
Pitt's anti-republican policy...
"Yes, I know," Robespierre interposed. "I know Mr. Fox is the
champion of democracy. He is a grand character, and richly gifted.
I had his speeches translated, and read them with intense interest.
I followed every word of his fine oratorical contest with Burke, and
was deeply moved at the solemn rupture of their friendship of twenty
years' standing! Ah! There is something grand, heroic, thus to
sunder the closest tie in defence of one's principles. It is worthy
of another age. They are Romans, your leaders! And what are Mr.
Fox's wishes, may I ask?"
The Englishman was about to explain the principal points, when
Robespierre again interrupted him by a gesture. Did he not hear a
noise among the leaves, though Blount, the watch-dog, who prowled
round about like a vigilant sentinel, had not barked? Robespierre
begged Vaughan to continue, but was still on the _qui-vive_,
listening with divided attention, nervous and uneasy, as if fearing
to be surprised in this conference with a stranger.
And the interview was, to say the least, compromising. Fox and his
influential friends of the Whig party proposed a secret agreement
which would perhaps induce England and the Powers allied against
France to put down their arms, thus giving satisfaction to the
Royalists, without in any way interfering with the legitimate claims
of the Revolutionists. Robespierre looked at the Englishman in
surprise, still unable to grasp his meaning.
Vaughan then explained more concisely that the Whig party dreamt of
establishing a Constitutional monarchy in France, on the same
principles as in England, with the little son of Louis XVI., now a
prisoner in the Temple, as King ...
"But think a moment!" interrupted Robespierre.
"With a Regency, of course, and an absolute guardianship," continued
Vaughan.
"The French nation would never hear of it."
"But why not, since the Regency would be confided to you?"
Robespierre started back.
"What, to me! I, the Regent, the tutor of that boy? You are joking!"
The "Incorruptible" did not think fit to tell him that five years
previously he had vainly solicited the position of tutor to the royal
infant at Versailles. He now walked excitedly to and fro, asserting
positively his refusal, in short, broken phrases; all the while on
the alert for the slightest sound, and stopping now and then to ask,
"Did you hear anything? I thought I heard steps? Are you there,
Blount? Hoop la! Good dog! Keep a good watch!"
Carried away by his vanity, Robespierre laid his soul bare before the
Englishman, who listened with the greatest curiosity and interest.
"Restore Royalty? Ah! it was too ludicrous! Had he worked, then, to
re-establish a kingdom for the son of the man he had sent to the
scaffold? No! he had worked first for France, whom he had purged of
her internal evils, of the whole corrupt and infamous crowd that had
so long polluted her! And then for himself; oh no! not from motives
of personal ambition, but because he felt himself called to
regenerate his country, to breathe into her a new soul, cleansed in
the pure waters of virtue and justice and equality.
"Regent, indeed? Fox could not mean it! Dictator, perhaps;
Protector, as was Cromwell; Lord-Protector of his country, now
degraded by centuries of tyranny and corruption. Ah! they would soon
see her arise, pure and radiant, cleansed of all stain, regenerated
by a baptism of blood! A few more heads, and then from the soil
soaked with the blood of aristocrats, those butchers of the old
regime, would spring the tree of liberty, the tree of life and
justice, of joy and love, which would bring forth marvellous fruits,
and to whose branches France would cling for support and nourishment,
as to a mother's breast!"
Vaughan gazed at him in bewilderment. For through this ambition,
this bloodthirsty hypocrisy, he descried the madman; and the
Englishman said within himself that the man was absolutely dangerous.
He only interrupted Robespierre as a matter of form, knowing well
there was absolutely nothing in the way of common sense to be looked
for in such a fanatic.
"So you refuse?" said Vaughan, in conclusion.
"Decidedly!"
"Then I have only to retire, with your permission."
But Robespierre turned round abruptly. Blount had started barking,
and a man was crossing their path.
"Who is that?" said Robespierre, in a frightened voice.
"The man looks like a beggar," said Vaughan, his eyes bent on the
approaching figure.
"Do you think so?" he answered, only half convinced. "A spy,
perhaps? For I am surrounded with spies, monsieur! Ah, my life is
awful! And if I were not working for the happiness of France ..."
A sound of voices was on the air, and the bark of a dog died away in
the distance. It was Robespierre's two scouts driving off the beggar.
Released from suspense, Robespierre turned again to Vaughan.
"We must part company now," he said, "but not a word of our
interview! I can count on your discretion, I am sure. If not,
beware, for I could charge you with attempted bribery and corruption."
Vaughan assured him of his secrecy, telling him he was returning to
London by Geneva, to allay suspicion. Seeing Robespierre's
agitation, he felt it was hardly the moment to ask for the passports
he required for Clarisse and her two young people. He ventured,
however, but saw immediately by the expression of distrust on the
face of his interlocutor that he was not mistaken. Robespierre
refused bluntly, saying that Vaughan should use every precaution to
avert discovery. The slightest imprudence was sufficient to betray
him. It would be too noticeable to travel in numbers in times when
every one was suspected and shadowed. And what would it be for four
people? His friend had but to come to him a few days hence, and he
would give her the passports, only too happy to be of service to a
family in whom Monsieur Vaughan was interested.
The latter politely declined this offer, feigning indifference, and
took leave of Robespierre, who kept him in sight until he disappeared
round a bend in the road.
Left alone, Robespierre's suspicions were aroused. He began to ask
himself who was the woman in whom the Englishman was so much
interested. Vaughan had friends, then, in France, to whom no doubt
he would describe their interview in the forest, or, at the very
least, how he had spent the morning. Robespierre turned to call his
men, who were close at hand.
"Quickly," he cried. "Set an agent on the track of the man who has
just left, and keep me informed of his actions and movements until he
leaves Paris.
"You are right, citizen, for the fellow looked d--d suspicious," said
one of the men, Didier, who played the part of a _Trivtay l'Ermite_
to the Incorruptible.
"How is that?" interrupted Robespierre, starting.
Then Didier, who had just heard it from one of his agents on watch in
the neighbourhood, told Robespierre of the interview between Clarisse
and Vaughan at the place they were standing. He also described the
hurried departure of Clarisse when Robespierre arrived, and how she
had then flown, in all haste, to her house, a few steps off, and shut
herself in.
This was too much for Robespierre, whose misgivings had been already
awakened.
"What! a third person, a stranger, was cognizant of my interview with
the Englishman? Let that woman be arrested instantly," he exclaimed.
"But there are two of them," said Didier, "mother and daughter."
"Then have them both arrested! Arrest the three of them, for there
is also a son, I believe!"
"Yes, but he is not there at this moment," said Didier.
"Then arrest him when he returns!"
Didier gave the order to his companion, and returned to Robespierre.
"And where must they be taken?" he asked. "To what prison?"
"Where you like! Only see that they are arrested immediately. Now
be quiet ... here come our friends!"
The tinkling of a bell was heard, and the crack of a whip. Then gay
voices and bursts of laughter and merriment broke on the ear. A man
made his appearance, who was lame and walked with the help of a
stick, preceded by Blount, the dog gambolling round him in welcome.
It was Duplay's nephew, Simon, the wooden-legged. While a volunteer
in 1792, he had lost his left leg at the battle of Valmy, and now,
disabled and pensioned off by the army commission, he acted as
secretary to Robespierre. Simon advanced gaily, like a guide
reaching his journey's end.
"Good morning, Maximilien! Have you been here long?"
Robespierre was about to equivocate and say that he had only just
arrived, but he was spared the trouble of replying. Cries of "Good
morning, Maximilien! Good morning, friend!" sounded across the
hedge, a few steps from him. The whole Duplay family appeared in
sight, all perched on a cart drawn by a lean, jaded beast. Old
Duplay, in his shirt sleeves, his face all red and bathed in
perspiration, led the horse by the bridle over the ruts of the road,
while his son, Maurice, a boy of fifteen, ran about, his hair
floating in the wind, waving the branch of a tree to beat away the
flies. Behind the cart, pushing it forward by the wheels, was
another man, neatly dressed. This was Lebas, Robespierre's colleague
at the Convention and at the Committee of Public Safety, the husband
of one of Duplay's daughters. In the cart were all the family:
mother Duplay, seated on a stool, a solidly built woman, with arms
bare to the elbow, holding the reins, and by her side, seated on a
heap of provisions and crockery, were the three daughters, Elizabeth,
the wife of Lebas; Victoire, the youngest, a fair-haired girl with
beautiful eyes; and Eleonore, or Cornélie, for the Duplays had
unearthed the name of a Roman matron to give her a character of
antique grace in the sight of Robespierre, who, it was said, was
going to marry her.
Dark and strong, with clear, almond-shaped eyes, her hair neatly
plaited, Cornélie was dressed like her sisters, in light summer
clothes, with a simplicity in which a practised eye could detect a
grain of coquetry. The three sisters wore bonnets, caught up and
fastened with tricolour ribbons and cockades, thus giving to the old
cart, decorated with branches and palms gathered on the way, an air
of gaiety and life.
It was a custom of the Duplays to come thus on fine days to join
their friend, in some shady, secluded spot for a picnic on the grass,
and enjoy his company for a few quiet hours of intimacy in the
silence and coolness of the wood.
The cart now stopped.
Robespierre gallantly assisted the women to alight, amidst timid
exclamations and flutters of fear and laughing protests of: "Oh!
dear! How high! I shall never be able to get down!" followed by
ripples of laughter and a whole babel of questions and chatter.
"Have you slept well, _bon ami_? Ah! How well you look this
morning!"
"The joy of seeing you," replied Robespierre.
They went into ecstasy over his slightest words. Oh, how good he
was, how kind! And what a dream the place was, so joyous, so cool!
Only he could have discovered such a spot!
Mother Duplay had already commenced unpacking the provisions--slices
of sausage, shrimp paste, cold chicken, a melon, watercress, Brie
cheese, and buns. She called her daughters to help her, whilst
Duplay unharnessed the horse and Lebas conversed with Robespierre,
giving him the latest news from Paris. Wooden-legged Simon looked
around for a convenient spot to spread the cloth, and the boy Maurice
occupied himself in coaxing Blount to stand on his hind legs and beg
for sugar.
Suddenly all movement was suspended, and every ear strained to
listen, for screams were heard coming from behind the clump of trees
in the background.
"It sounds like women's voices," said Cornélie anxiously.
"You were right, they were women's voices," repeated Madame Lebas,
who had advanced in the direction whence the sound came.
Robespierre hastened to reassure them.
"It is nothing!" he said calmly, and as every one looked at him
questioning, he added indifferently, "They are only arresting two
aristocrats!"
"Oh, is that all?" said the two women, reassured.
Duplay and Simon approached nearer the Incorruptible, scenting a
story. Robespierre assumed an air of superior mystery. It was a
good find.... He had tracked them down....
At this moment Didier appeared.
"Is everything right?" asked Robespierre.
"Everything is right, citizen," replied Didier.
Apparently satisfied, the Incorruptible turned round, and went
towards Cornélie, who had stooped to gather a daisy. A few steps
off, on the other trunk, Robespierre had laid the bouquet of blue
periwinkles gathered in his morning walk through the forest. He now
offered it to her.
"Oh, the pretty things!" she exclaimed, thanking him for the delicate
attention.
"It was the flower Rousseau loved," Robespierre observed.
"You are as kind and good as he," the young girl replied, knowing she
gave pleasure to the Incorruptible in thus comparing him to his
master.
Robespierre, pleased and flattered, fastened the flowers in the young
girl's dress. A gentle breeze murmured through the leaves, fanning
them as it passed. It had come from afar, laden with a scent of
cultivated blossoms, the heavy perfume of roses that grew in
Clarisse's garden.
"Ah, life is sweet sometimes," sighed Cornélie.
And Robespierre, inhaling deep draughts of the perfumed air, assented
with a smile.