THE OATH OF THE GAMESTER.
The attempted abduction however doubtful might be the fact, since if
it had any reality it had failed in its very commencement, had excited
the anger of some, and the interest of others. What afforded strong
probability to the existence of such a project was the fact that the
Committee for General Security learned that three weeks, or a month
before, a number of emigrants had entered France from different parts
of the frontier. It was evident that these people who thus risked
their lives did not do so without design, and this design was in all
probability to co-operate in carrying off the royal family.
Already, upon the proposition of the Conventionalist Usselin, the
terrible decree had been promulgated, which condemned to death all
emigrants convicted of having returned to France; all Frenchmen
convicted of having intended to emigrate; every individual convicted of
having assisted in their flight, or in their return, either a female or
male emigrant; and lastly, all citizens convicted of having afforded
shelter to an emigrant. With this dreadful law commenced the "Reign of
Terror." All that was wanting was the law for suspected persons. The
Chevalier de Maison-Rouge was an enemy far too active and audacious
for his return to Paris, and his appearance in the Temple, not to call
forth the gravest measures. More severe inspections than had previously
taken place were made in a number of suspected houses; but with the
exception of some female emigrants who allowed themselves to be taken,
and some old men who did not care enough for their few remaining days
to dispute with the executioner, their researches produced no other
result.
The sections, as may be imagined, were after this event much occupied
for several days, and consequently the secretary of the section
Lepelletier, one of the most influential in Paris, had little time to
think of his unknown fair one. At first, as he had resolved on quitting
the old Rue Saint Jacques, he had tried to forget her, but, as his
friend Lorin had observed to him,--
"Alas! endeavoring to forget
But makes us recollect the more."
Maurice, however, neither said nor confessed anything. He buried in
his heart all the details of that adventure which he had been able to
conceal from the scrutiny of his friend. But Lorin, who knew Maurice to
be of a joyous and hilarious nature, and now saw him constantly sad and
thoughtful, seeking solitude, doubted not, to use his own expression,
that the rogue Cupid had passed that way. It is remarkable, that,
during its eighteen centuries of monarchy, France had had few years so
mythological as the year of our Lord 1793.
In the mean time the chevalier was not taken, and he was no more spoken
of. The widowed queen, cruelly robbed of her child, contented herself
by weeping, in company with her sister and daughter. The young dauphin
was consigned to the care of "Simon the Shoemaker," and entered upon
that course of martyrdom which, in the short space of two years, was to
reunite him with his father and mother. There was a moment's calm. The
Montagnard volcano rested before devouring the Girondins.
Maurice felt the weight of this calm, as the heaviness of the
atmosphere is felt in stormy weather, and not knowing how to dispose
of his leisure, abandoned himself entirely to the ardor of a sentiment
which if not actually love itself bordered closely upon it. He re-read
his letter, again kissed his beautiful sapphire ring, and resolved
(notwithstanding his oath) to make one more attempt, promising himself
this should indeed be the last. The young man had first thought he
would go to the section of the Jardin des Plantes, and there make
inquiry from the secretary, his colleague. But the first idea (and we
may add, which he still retained) that the beautiful unknown was mixed
up in some political plot, still restrained him, as the thought that
any indiscretion on his part might be the means of sending this lovely
woman to the Place de la Révolution, and her head to the block, caused
his blood to curdle and freeze in his veins. He therefore determined on
seeking this adventure alone, and without any further information.
His plan, besides, was very simple. The catalogue of names inscribed
on each door would certainly afford him some clew, and then by
interrogating the porters he might be able to solve the mystery. In
his capacity of secretary of the Rue Lepelletier, he possessed full
and entire right to make all inquiries. Besides, Maurice, ignorant of
the name of the unknown, was able to judge of it by analogy. It was
impossible so lovely a creature should not possess a name in harmony
with her form, some name appertaining to sylph, fairy, or angel, since
her arrival on earth must have been hailed as that of a superior and
supernatural being. This name would then most infallibly guide him.
Maurice then dressed himself in a coat of dark brown cloth, adorned his
head with the _bonnet-rouge_ worn on great occasions, and set out on
his voyage of discovery alone. He had in his hand one of those knotted
cudgels called a _constitution_, which wielded by his vigorous hand
was powerful as the club of Hercules, and in his pocket he placed his
commission as secretary of the section Lepelletier. These were at once
his physical security and his moral guarantee.
He prepared himself to review afresh the Rue Saint Victor, the old Rue
Saint Jacques, reading by the light of the declining day all those
names (inscribed by hands more or less practised) upon the panels of
every door.
Maurice had reached the hundredth house, and consequently read the
hundredth list, and nothing had yet occurred to induce him to imagine
that he was in the least degree upon the trail of the unknown, as he
had fully made up his mind that no name could be hers which did not
belong to the class he had imagined, when a good-natured shoemaker,
noticing the anxiety and impatience depicted on the young man's
countenance, came out with his strap of leather and his punch, and
looking at Maurice over his spectacles,--
"Do you wish any information respecting the tenants of this house,
Citizen?" said he; "if so, I shall be happy to give it to you."
"Thanks, Citizen," stammered Maurice; "I am looking for the name of a
friend."
"Tell me the name, Citizen; I know everybody in this quarter. Where
does this friend live?"
"He lived, I think, in the old Rue Saint Jacques; but I fear he has
removed."
"But how is he named? I must know that."
Maurice taken thus unawares hesitated for a moment, then pronounced the
first name that presented itself to his memory.
"René," said he.
"And what trade?"
Maurice was surrounded by tanneries.
"A journeyman-tanner," said he.
"In that case," said a burgess, who stopped and regarded Maurice with
a certain good-nature, not totally exempt from distrust, "you should
address yourself to his master."
"That is true," said the door-keeper; "you are quite right, the masters
know the names of their workmen; here is Citizen Dixmer, who is manager
of a tannery, and has more than fifty workmen in his yard, he can
perhaps tell you." Maurice turned round and saw a burgess of commanding
figure and mild countenance, the richness of whose attire denoted
opulence.
"Only as the citizen porter observes, it is necessary I should know the
family name."
"The one I said,--René."
"René is his baptismal name; it is the family name I require. All my
workmen sign their family name."
"Upon my word," said Maurice, growing impatient under this species of
interrogation, "the family name? I do not know it."
"What," said the burgess, with a smile, in which Maurice thought he
discerned more irony than he wished to appear,--"what, not know the
surname of your friend!"
"No."
"In that case, it is not probable you will find him," and the burgess,
gravely bowing to Maurice, walked a short distance and entered a house
in the old Rue Saint Jacques.
"The fact is, that if you do not know his surname," said the porter--
"Well, I do not know it," said Maurice, who would not have been sorry
to find some occasion to vent his ill-temper, and was at the moment
much inclined to seek a quarrel. "What have you to say to that?"
"Nothing, Citizen, nothing at all; only since you do not know the
name of your friend, it is as Citizen Dixmer said more than probable
you will not find him," and the citizen porter went into his lodge,
shrugging his shoulders. Maurice felt a great inclination to thrash
this porter, but he was an old man, and his infirmities saved him.
Had the porter been twenty years younger, Maurice would have given
a scandalous illustration of the principle,--equal in law, unequal
in physical force. Besides, the day was drawing to a close, and he
had only a few moments of daylight left. He availed himself of it by
returning to the first street, then to the second, examined every door,
searched in every nook, looked under every palisade, climbed each wall,
threw a glance into the interior of every gateway, looked through the
keyholes, knocked at some deserted warehouses without receiving any
reply, till at length nearly two hours had elapsed in this useless
investigation.
Nine o'clock struck; no more noise was heard, no movement seen in this
deserted quarter, whose life seemed to have retired with the light of
day. Maurice in despair made a retrograde movement, when all at once,
at the winding of a narrow alley, he discerned a light. He immediately
ventured into the dark passage, without remarking that at that very
moment a curious head, which for the last quarter of an hour (from the
midst of a clump of trees, rising above the wall) had followed all his
movements, then disappeared suddenly behind this wall. A short time
after this head had disappeared, three men came out from a small door
in this same wall, went into the alley where Maurice had preceded
them, while a fourth, for greater security, locked the door of entrance
into the alley. At the end of the alley, Maurice discovered a court;
it was on the opposite side of this court that the light was burning.
He knocked at the door of a poor, solitary house, but at the first
sound the light was extinguished. He redoubled his efforts, but no one
answered his call; he saw they were determined to make no reply, so
comprehending that it was only a useless waste of time, he crossed the
court and re-entered the alley. At this moment the door of the house
turned softly on its hinges, three men came out, and then the sound of
a whistle was heard.
Maurice turned round, and saw three shadows within a short distance.
He saw in the darkness also (his eyes having become accustomed to this
obscurity) the reflection of three glittering blades. He knew that he
was hemmed in. He would have brandished his club, but the alley was
so narrow that it touched the wall on either side. At the same moment
he was stunned by a violent blow on the head. This was an unforeseen
assault made upon him by the four men who entered through the door in
the wall. Seven men at the same time threw themselves upon Maurice, and
notwithstanding a desperate resistance, overpowered him, and succeeded
in binding his hands and bandaging his eyes.
Maurice had not even uttered a cry, or called for aid. Strength and
true courage are self-reliant, and are ashamed of extraneous aid.
Besides, Maurice had often heard that no one would enter this deserted
quarter. Maurice was thus, as we have said, thrown down and bound, but
had not uttered a single complaint. He had reflected as to what would
follow,--that as they had bandaged his eyes they did not intend to kill
him directly. At Maurice's age respite becomes hope. He recovered his
presence of mind, and listened patiently.
"Who are you?" demanded a voice, still breathless from the late
struggle.
"I am a man they are murdering," replied Maurice.
"What is more, you are a dead man if you speak loud, or call for
assistance, or even utter the least cry."
"If I had wished to cry, I need not have waited till now."
"Are you ready to answer my questions?"
"Let me hear them first; I shall then see whether I ought to reply."
"Who sent you here?"
"No one."
"You came then of your own accord?"
"Yes."
"You lie!"
Maurice made a desperate effort to disengage his hands, but it was in
vain.
"I never lie," said he.
"In either case, whether you came of your own accord or were sent, you
are a spy."
"And you are cowards!"
"We cowards!"
"You are seven or eight against one man bound, and you insult that man.
Cowards! cowards! cowards!"
This violence on the part of Maurice, instead of enraging his
adversaries, appeared to produce a contrary effect. It was even a proof
that the young man was not what they had laid to his charge; a true spy
would have trembled, and begged for mercy.
"There is nothing insulting in that," said a voice, milder yet firmer
than any that had previously been heard; "in the times we live in, one
may be a spy without being a dishonest man, only it is at the risk of
one's life."
"If that is your opinion, you are welcome to question me, I will answer
you faithfully."
"What are you doing in this quarter?"
"Looking for a woman."
This excuse was received with a murmur of incredulity; the murmur
increased and became a storm.
"You lie!" replied the same voice. "There is no woman in the matter,
and we know what we mean by 'woman;' there is no woman to pursue in
this quarter. Avow your project, or die."
"Come," said Maurice, "you will not kill me for pleasure, unless you
are downright ruffians."
Maurice made a second effort, more violent and unexpected than the
first, to disengage his hands from the cord which bound them, when
suddenly a cold sensation, sharp and painful, shot through his breast.
Despite himself, Maurice fell back a step.
"Ah! you felt that," said one of the men. "Well, there are eight inches
like the inch with which you have just become acquainted."
"Complete your work, then," said Maurice, resignedly; "it will at least
soon be over."
"Come now, who are you?" asked the voice which was at once mild and
commanding.
"Do you wish to know my name?"
"Yes, your name."
"Maurice Lindey."
"What!" exclaimed a voice, "Maurice Lindey, the revolu--the patriot?
Maurice Lindey, secretary of the Lepelletier section?"
These words were pronounced with so much heat that Maurice saw clearly
that they were decisive. To reply was in a manner to fix irrevocably
his fate.
Maurice was incapable of cowardice. He drew himself up like a Spartan,
and said in a firm voice,--
"Yes, Maurice Lindey; yes, Maurice Lindey, the secretary of the section
Lepelletier; yes, Maurice Lindey, the patriot, the revolutionist, the
Jacobin; Maurice Lindey, in short, whose brightest day on earth will be
that on which he will die for liberty."
A death-like silence followed this reply.
Maurice presented his breast, expecting every moment that the blade,
whose point he had already felt, would be plunged into his heart.
"Is your statement really true?" asked a voice which betrayed some
emotion; "come, young man, do not lie."
"Search my pocket," said Maurice, "and you will find my commission.
Look at my shirt-bosom, and if my blood has not effaced them, you will
there see embroidered my initials, _M_ and _L_."
Maurice at once felt himself lifted by strong arms which bore him a
short distance. He heard first one door open, then another; but the
second was narrower than the first, for his bearers could scarcely pass
through with him.
The murmurs and whispers continued.
"I am lost," thought Maurice. "They are going to tie a stone round my
neck and throw me into some hole of the Bièvre."
But in another moment he felt that the men ascended some steps, where
the air was warmer, and where they placed him on a seat. He heard a
double door shut and the steps withdraw. He believed that he was left
alone. He listened as intently as a man can whose life depends upon a
word, and he believed that he heard that same voice whose tones had
already struck him as mixing mildness with command, say to the others,--
"Let us deliberate."