CIVIC VIRTUE
Dominique and the citizeness proceeded as unobtrusively as they could
along the Rue Honoré. He hurried her past the Rue Florentin, down which
he knew, without looking, was to be seen the tall machine of execution
on the Place de la Révolution.
At first they passed few people, but on approaching the centre of the
City they saw numbers in front of the _cafés_ and even going to the
theatre. Flashy carriages of thievish men who had enriched themselves
under the new conditions, rolled frequently by. The basis of their
power, the squalid element with jealous, insolent eyes, also increased
on the pavements.
At the Rue de la Monnaie they turned towards the Quays. Just as they
were turning, a young woman, whose head was covered with a shawl, glided
from a gateway and addressed them.
They both started suspiciously, but the poor creature proved to be only
seeking charity, and Cyrène, struck by a certain desperation in her
tone, turned to give her a couple of _sous_. In passing the coins their
eyes met, and the mendicant started.
"Great God! Madame Baroness, you do not know me?"
The voice, though altered in quality, recalled other times. Her features
became recognisable, and the identity of their owner came over Cyrène.
"Mademoiselle de Richeval!" she gasped.
The sprightly companion of princesses was begging her bread. Her wit and
beauty had disappeared, the once bright eyes were sharp, the once
blooming cheeks were wrinkled and shrunk.
"Ladies, remember the spies," said Dominique.
"Go to our house, my dear," Cyrène whispered hastily. "It is No. 409,
Rue Honoré, you will get supper there, and await us."
"409, Rue Honoré," the other repeated, and hastened to the promised
food.
Continuing, the two reached the Hôtel de Ville at seven o'clock. Though
early, the spacious building was lighted from attic to basement, and
slipping in through a swarm of _Sans-culottes_ who surrounded the
doorsteps, they entered the great hall. As they were going in the
"Marseillaise" began to be pounded, and the entry, from the opposite
direction, of persons of much more importance than they, attracted the
eyes of the men and women who smoked and knitted round the hall. The
incomers were the President and heads of the Commune of Paris, each
arrayed in his tricolor _carmagnole_, red bonnet, and great sabre.
The President was the Admiral. His glittering eyes swept the chamber,
and singling out Cyrène as by premeditation, rested upon her face. He
was unknown to her, but at his smile she shuddered.
These exalted personages--robbers, murderers, tavern-keepers,
kettle-menders--sat down on their raised tribune, while Cyrène and
Dominique were pushed by the guards into some rows of benches in front
of but not facing them. The individuals on these benches were as yet
few, and Cyrène looked apprehensively around the place, while Dominique
took mental notes. They saw, forming the sides of the hall, two
amphitheatres filled with Jacobin women knitting, patching trousers or
waistcoats, and watching the benches of supplicants for the cards of
civism, and made remarks to one another aloud.
"That one's not _Sans-culotte_ enough for me," called out a young woman
in a red bonnet, and crossing over with the stride of a Grenadier to
Cyrène, stood before her, arms akimbo, and cried shrilly, "Saint
Guillotine for your patron, my delicate Ma'mselle."
The use of the prescribed address "ma'mselle" was evidently regarded as
a witticism, for shouts of laughter filled the place.
Just then the President rang his bell, and as he did so he looked at
Cyrène significantly. Shrink as she might from his leer, she could not
but feel grateful, for he had evidently rung purposely.
A secretary began the minutes, which consisted of resolutions of Jacobin
joy at the capture of a once idolised patriot who had lately been
denounced by Robespierre for counselling mercy to prisoners.
The name of Robespierre excited enthusiastic applause.
A set of benches facing those of the applicants had stood thus far
empty. They were now filled by the entry of a body of representatives
furnished by certain of the forty-eight sections of the City, whereupon
the "Marseillaise" was again beat, and several of the councillors lit
their pipes.
The principal sections represented were those of the Pikes and the
Fish-market.
Some one called for "Ça ira." It was succeeded by a harangue of the
Admiral against the captured ex-patriot. Cyrène followed with horror
every word of his oratory, every movement of his declamation, the air of
pride with which he played upon the passions of the _Sans-culottes_,
and the wicked sweep of the principles he announced.
"That all mankind deserve massacre," he cried, smiling, "is the
philosophic general rule; the sole exceptions are the true patriots. By
title of liberty, the possessions of all belong to them alone. And how
can we know the true patriot? _By his red cap and his red hand._"
Finally the long suspense of the applicants was brought to a close; the
secretary called the first on the list.
"Citizeness Montmorency."
At the once great name a silence fell over the place.
Then a murmur ran through the benches of the Jacobin women, while Cyrène
summoned her courage. The murmur was not long in taking shape.
"The Montmorencys are a brood of monsters," energetically called the
young Jacobiness, rising in her place.
"The aristocrat to the guillotine!" shouted a drunken man.
"The guillotine!"
"Yes, yes--to La Force immediately!"
These and similar cries resounded. They fell upon Cyrène's ears like
thunders of hostile artillery in a battle. Dominique sat quite still.
His mistress rose. Now that the instant of danger had actually come she
felt an inconquerable courage well up in her, which, as she stood with
brilliant eye and glowing cheek, made her very beautiful. This was not
in her favour with the envious knitters; but while they commented in
frightful language on her gentle build, the secretary said--"Are you the
person?"
"I am," she answered clearly.
"Are you not," he continued glancing at the audience for approbation,
"the late aristocrat Baroness of that name?"
"I am," she replied, in a tone still clearer and more fearless.
The President's face gleamed with admiration. He rang his bell sharply
and the clamours subsided. His glittering eyes devoured her features,
while he said--
"Does anybody know the citizeness and answer for her civism?" He
hurriedly added, "Adjourned; call the next."
Dominique caught her by the arm to make their exit, for though he could
not assign a reason for the Admiral's device of favour, he was ready to
take advantage of it.
As they started, one of the section members sprang up and exclaimed--
"I answer for the citizeness."
He was a man of less than thirty, and of open, enthusiastic expression,
and wore the uniform of a National Guard.
"You, citizen la Tour?" the Admiral exclaimed.
Cyrène eyed the member in grateful but intense wonder. She had never to
her knowledge seen him before.
"Yes, citizen President," he replied earnestly, "I answer for the
citizeness because she saved my life."
The crowd hushed by a common impulse.
"You all know me, brothers," he cried, "my record for the Revolution, my
passion for liberty--Liberty, Liberty, Liberty! It has been my dream
under the stars, my labour under the sun, my love and my desire. I was,
as all know, a patriot proscribed and condemned to death before the
Revolution began. I was of the first at the hanging of Foulon, at the
sacking of Reveillon, and at the walls of the Bastille. I was wounded in
the stand against the Dragoons of Lambesc, and all know my scars in the
battles of the North. I name these things only to prove the claim of
this woman to civic rights. By her pity she saved my life in the old
days, at the last moment before my breaking on the wheel. Imagine to
yourselves that moment. Ask how I can feel other than gratitude and
devotion to my benefactress. In the evil days of the aristocrats she was
a friend of the poor. I present her now to you when it is in our power
to confer liberty upon her who set at liberty, life upon her who saved
life. I, the child of the Revolution, pray this as my right; she claims
it also for herself as a heroine of civic virtue. Give your suffrages."
"Vive la Tour! vive the citizeness!" resounded in shouts through the
hall. Once more the Admiral rang his bell, and silenced followed.
"Yes, citizeness," he said, addressing her, "your courage is French
courage, your virtue French virtue, and the good heart of the nation
sees in you a daughter of the people. Incarnating the spirit of the
race, be welcome at the tables of fraternity, and accept the homage of
all hearts."
At a motion of his hand the secretary hastily filled in her certificate,
and Dominique, without waiting for his own, hurried her away. Even as
they left they heard Wife Gougeon scream--
"Death to the aristocrat!"
They hastened across the Place de Grève, but had not yet reached the
corner of the street beyond, when in the dusk Cyrène heard the sound of
rushing wheels, felt herself choked by a gag from behind, and was pushed
helpless by rough hands into a coach and driven away. Behind her she
heard a sound of scuffle and the voice of Dominique cry aloud in
anguish--
"They have finished me!"
"Be quiet, my lady," spoke the voice of Abbé Jude.
She knew no more till she woke in darkness.