demand that arms and cartridges be distributed anew to all the patriots
who ask for them. I demand that a battalion of patriots be formed that
shall assume the name of 'The Holy Battalion of '89,' and that they
shall swear to die on the steps of the Assembly rather than yield."
Then, as if they had only awaited this motion, four hundred patriots
invaded the hall, demanding arms. They were the veterans of the
Revolution--the living history of the past six years; the men who had
fought under the walls of the Bastille; who, on the 10th of August, had
attacked the same château that they were called upon to defend to-day;
men covered with scars, the heroes of Valmy and Jemmapes, proscribed
because their daring deeds were attached to obscure names, and because
they had vanquished the Prussians without organized tactics, and beaten
the Austrians without a knowledge of mathematics or even knowing how to
spell. They all accused the aristocratic factions of having driven them
out of the army. It was the reactionary Aubry who had torn the swords
from their hands and the epaulets from their shoulders.
They kissed the guns and swords which were distributed to them, and
pressed them to their hearts, exclaiming: "Then we are free, since we
are to die for our country!"
Just then an usher entered to announce a deputation from the Section Le
Peletier.
"You see," said Delaunay, "that I knew what I was talking about. They
have come to accept the conditions imposed upon them by Menou and
Laporte."
The usher went out and returned five minutes later.
"The chief of the deputation asks if he and his companions will be
safeguarded while he makes a communication to the Convention," he said.
Boissy d'Anglas raised his hand.
"On the honor of the nation," he said, "those who enter here shall go
forth as safe and sound as they enter."
The usher retired with the answer. Profound silence reigned in the
Assembly. The deputies still hoped, thanks to this unexpected
occurrence, to escape from their dilemma by means of conciliatory
measures. The silence was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps.
All eyes turned toward the door and a shiver ran through the Assembly.
The same young man who had addressed the Convention on the previous
occasion headed the deputation. His bearing showed plainly that he had
not come to make submission.
"Citizen president," said Boissy d'Anglas, "you have asked to be heard
and we listen to you. You have asked to be safeguarded and we accord
that demand. Speak therefore."
"Citizens," said the young man, "I hope that you will refuse the last
offers of the Sections, for I wish to fight. The happiest day of my life
will be when I enter this hall ankle-deep in blood, with fire and sword
in my hand."
A threatening murmur ran along the benches of the Convention; a thrill
of wonder passed through the tribunes and the group of patriots who were
crowded in the corner of the hall.
"Continue," said Boissy d'Anglas; "swell your threats to insolence. You
know that you have nothing to fear and that we have guaranteed you your
life and liberty."
"For that reason," continued the young man, "I will tell you in a few
words what brings me here. It is the sacrifice of my personal vengeance
to the general welfare, even including your own. I thought I had no
right to send by another this final summons which I now pronounce to
you. If to-morrow, at daybreak, the walls are not covered with notices
to the effect that the Convention is dissolved in a body, and that Paris
and the rest of France are free to choose their own representatives,
without any conditions whatever, we shall consider that you have
declared war and shall march against you. You have five thousand men,
and we sixty thousand, with right on our side as well." Here he drew out
a watch set with brilliants. "It wants a quarter to midnight," he
continued; "if within twelve hours, that is to say to-morrow at noon,
Paris has not received full satisfaction, the hall which shelters you
to-night will be torn down stone by stone, and fire will be set to the
four corners of the Tuileries, that the royal dwelling may be purified
of your sojourn in it. I have spoken."
A cry of vengeance and menace rang through the hall; the patriots who
had just been armed wanted to throw themselves upon the insolent orator;
but Boissy d'Anglas stretched out his hand:
"I have pledged your word as well as my own, citizens," he said. "The
president of the Section Le Peletier must retire as he came, safe and
sound. That is the way we keep our word; we shall see how he keeps his."
"Then it is war!" exclaimed Morgan, with a cry of delight.
"Yes, citizen," replied Boissy d'Anglas, "and civil war, which is the
worst of all wars. Go, and never appear before us again, for I could not
answer for your safety another time."
Morgan withdrew with a smile on his lips. He took with him what he had
come to seek, the certainty of a battle on the following day. Nothing
could avert it.
Hardly had he left the hall, however, than a frightful tumult arose.
Midnight struck. The 13th Vendémiaire had begun.
Let us leave the Sections at odds with the Convention, since we still
have six or eight hours before war shall blaze out, and let us enter one
of those mixed salons which were frequented by men of both parties, and
where we can consequently obtain more definite news of the Sections than
was possible at the Convention.
CHAPTER XVI
THE SALON OF MADAME DE STAËL, THE SWEDISH AMBASSADRESS
About two-thirds of the way along the Rue du Bac, between the Rue de
Grenelle and the Rue de la Plance, stands a massive dwelling which can
be recognized to-day by the four Ionic columns which support, two by
two, a heavy stone balcony. This was the Swedish embassy, and the
celebrated Madame de Staël, daughter of Monsieur de Necker, and wife of
the Swedish ambassador, Baron de Staël-Holstein, resided there.
Madame de Staël is so well known that it would perhaps be superfluous to
draw her portrait, physical, moral, and intellectual. We will, however,
say a few words concerning her. Born in 1766, Madame de Staël was then
in the zenith of her genius--we will not say beauty, since she was never
beautiful. A passionate admirer of her father, who was only a mediocre
man, whatever else may be said for him, she had followed his fortunes,
and emigrated with him, although the position of her husband as Swedish
ambassador insured her safety.
But she soon returned to Paris, when she drew up a plan for the escape
of King Louis XVI., and in 1793 addressed the revolutionary government
in the queen's defence, when the latter was brought to trial. Gustavus
IV.'s declaration of war with Russia recalled the ambassador to
Stockholm, and he was absent from Paris from the day of the queen's
death to that of Robespierre's. After the 9th Thermidor, M. de Staël
returned to Paris, still as Swedish ambassador, and Madame de Staël, who
could not live out of sight of "that gutter of a Rue du Bac," returned
with him.
She had but just returned when she opened her salon, where she naturally
received all men of distinction, whether they were Frenchmen or
foreigners. But, although she had been among the first to espouse the
principles of 1789, whether because the voice of reason dictated the
course, or the march of events had modified her ideas, she advocated the
return of the émigré's with all her might, and so frequently did she ask
that their names be erased from the list of the proscribed, particularly
that of M. de Narbonne, that the famous butcher Legendre denounced her
to the tribune.
Her salon and that of Madame Tallien divided Paris, only Madame de Staël
was in favor of a constitutional monarchy, that is to say, something
between the Cordeliers and the Girondins.
On this particular evening of the night of the 12th and the 13th
Vendémiaire, when the Convention was in the greatest uproar, Madame de
Staël's salon was crowded with company. The gathering was very
brilliant, and no one, looking at the apparel of the women and the easy
carriage of the men would have imagined that people were about to cut
each other's throats in the streets of Paris. And yet amid all this
gayety and wit, which is never so great in France as in hours of danger,
one might have discovered certain clouds, such as summer casts over
fields and harvests.
Every new-comer was hailed with bursts of curiosity and eager
questioning, which revealed the extent of the interest which the company
took in the situation. And then for the moment the two or three ladies
who shared the honors with Madame de Staël, either by reason of their
wit or beauty, were left alone.
Every one ran to the new-comer, gathered from him whatever he knew, and
then returned to his own circle, where the reports were eagerly
discussed. By tacit agreement, each lady, who, as we have said, was
admitted to the salon by reason of her wit or beauty, held a little
court of her own in the reception-room of the Hôtel de Suède; so on this
particular evening there was, besides Madame de Staël, Madame de
Krüdener and Madame Récamier.
Madame de Krüdener was three years younger than Madame de Staël. She was
a Courlandaise, born at Riga, the daughter of a rich landowner, Baron de
Witinghof. She married Baron de Krüdener at the age of fourteen, and
accompanied him to Copenhagen and Venice, where he filled the rôle of
Russian ambassador. Separated from her husband in 1791, she had regained
the liberty which had been for a time curtailed by her marriage. She was
very charming and very witty, speaking and writing French extremely
well. The only thing with which she could have been reproached in that
exceedingly unsentimental age, was a strong tendency to solitude and
revery. Her melancholy, which was born of the North, and which made her
look like a heroine of a Scandinavian saga, lent her a peculiar
character in the midst of her surroundings, which tended toward
mysticism. Her friends were sometimes angered by a sort of ecstasy which
occasionally seized upon her in the midst of a brilliant gathering. But
when they drew near her in her inspired moments, and saw her beautiful
eyes raised to heaven, they forgot Saint Thérèse in Madame de Krüdener,
and the woman of the world in the inspired being. But it was common
belief that those beautiful eyes, so often raised to heaven, would deign
to regard things earthly the moment that the singer Garat entered the
room where she was. A romance which she was then writing, entitled
"Valérie, or the Letters of Gustave de Linard to Ernest de G.," was
nothing more than the history of their love.
She was a woman of twenty-five or six, with that light hair peculiar to
northern latitudes. In her moments of ecstasy her face assumed a
marble-like rigidity of expression, and her skin, as white as satin,
gave an appearance of truth to the illusion. Her friends, and she had
many, although she had as yet no disciples, said that in her moments of
lofty abstraction, and communion with supernatural beings, disconnected
words escaped her, which nevertheless, like the Pythonesses of ancient
times, had a meaning of their own. In short, Madame de Krüdener was a
forerunner of modern spiritualism. In our day she would have been called
a "medium." The word not being invented at that time, the world
contented itself with calling her inspired.
Madame Récamier, the youngest of all the women of fashion of the day, was
born at Lyons, in 1777, and was named Jeanne-Françoise-Adélaide-Julie
Bernard. She married, in 1793, Jacques-Bose Récamier, who was twenty-six
years older than she. His fortune was derived from an immense hat
factory founded at Lyons by his father. When he was still quite young,
he travelled for the house, after receiving a classical education which
enabled him to quote either Virgil or Horace when occasion required. He
spoke Spanish, for his business had taken him more particularly into
Spain. He was handsome, tall, of light complexion, strongly built,
easily moved, generous, and light-hearted; and but slightly attached to
his friends, although he never refused to lend them money. One of his
best friends, whom he had aided pecuniarily many times, died; he merely
said with a sigh: "Another money-drawer closed!"
Married during the Terror, he was present at executions even on his
wedding-day, just as he had been on the day previous, and would be on
the following day. He saw the king and the queen die, together with
Lavoisier and the twenty-seven farmers-general; Laborde, his most
intimate friend; and, in short, almost all those with whom he had either
business or social relations. When asked why he displayed such assiduity
in attending the sad spectacle, he replied: "I wish to familiarize
myself with the scaffold."
And in fact he escaped being guillotined almost by a miracle. He did,
however, escape; and the sort of supernumerary time he had spent with
death was of no value to him.
Was it in consequence of this daily contemplation of nothingness that he
forgot his wife's beauty, so that he bore her only a paternal affection;
or was it one of those imperfections by means of which capricious nature
often renders sterile her most beautiful works? Be that as it may, the
fact that she was a wife in name only remains a mystery but no secret.
And yet, at the age of sixteen, when Mademoiselle Bernard became his
wife, her biographer tells us that she had passed from childhood into
the splendor of youth. A supple, elegant figure, shoulders worthy of the
Goddess Hebe, a perfectly shaped and exquisitely formed neck, a small
red mouth, teeth like pearls, arms which were charming though a little
thin, chestnut hair which curled naturally, a nose both regular and
delicate, although thoroughly French, a complexion of incomparable
brilliancy, a face replete with candor (though at times it sparkled with
mischief), whose gentle expression lent it an irresistible charm, a
manner at once insolent and proud, the best set head in the world--with
all these graces it might most truly have been said of her, as
Saint-Simon said of the Duchesse de Bourgogne: "Her bearing was that of
a goddess enthroned upon clouds."
The little courts appeared as independent of each other as though they
had been held in separate houses; but the principal one, through which
the others were reached, was ruled by the mistress of the dwelling. This
lady, as we have said, was Madame de Staël, already known in politics
through the interests she had brought to bear in order to obtain the
appointment of M. de Narbonne as minister of war, and in literature
through her enthusiastic letters concerning Jean-Jacques Rousseau.
She was not beautiful, and yet it would have been impossible to pass her
unnoticed, or to come in contact with her without realizing that hers
was one of those natures which sow words upon the field of thought as a
laborer sows his grain in the furrows. This evening she wore a dress of
red velvet, opening at the sides over a petticoat of straw-colored
satin; she had on a turban of straw-colored satin with a bird of
paradise, and she was nibbling a sprig of flowering heather between her
thick lips, which nevertheless disclosed beautiful teeth. Her nose was
somewhat too strong, and her cheeks too tanned, but her eyes, eyebrows
and forehead were wonderfully beautiful. Matter or divinity, there was
power there.
Standing with her back to the mantel, with one hand leaning upon it,
while she gesticulated with the other like a man, and still holding the
heather from which she now and then bit off a piece with her teeth, she
was talking to a young man, her ardent adorer, whose fair, curly hair
shaded his face and fell almost to his shoulders.
"No, you are mistaken, my dear Constant. No, I am not against the
Republic. Quite on the contrary, those who know me know with what ardor
I adopted the principles of '89. But I have a horror of sans-culottism,
and vulgar loves. As soon as it became apparent that Liberty, instead of
being the most chaste and beautiful of women, was a mere vulgar
courtesan who passed from Marat's arms to those of Danton, and thence to
Robespierre's, my respect for her ceased. Let there be no more princes,
no more dukes, no more counts, no more marquises; I am perfectly
willing. Citizen is a fine title when it is addressed to Cato;
citizeness is even more noble when Cornelia is its object. But to be on
intimate terms with my laundress, and to talk familiarly with my
coachman, is more than I can agree to. Equality is a fine thing, but the
word equality needs to be defined. If it signifies that education must
be equal for all at the expense of the government, then it is most
excellent; that all men shall be equal before the law, still more
excellent. But if it means that all French citizens shall be of the same
height, cut, and physical appearance, then it becomes the law of
Procrustes, and not a proclamation of the rights of man. If I had to
choose between the law of Lycurgus and that of Solon, between Sparta and
Athens, I should choose Athens, and, furthermore, the Athens of
Pericles, and not that of Pisistratus."
"Well!" replied the handsome young man to whom this social sally was
addressed, with his witty smile, and who was none other than Benjamin
Constant, "you would be wrong, for you would choose Athens in her
decline, and not at her rise."
"Her decline? With Pericles? It seems to me that on the contrary I
choose her in all her splendor."
"Yes; but, madame, nothing begins with splendor. Splendor is the fruit
which is preceded by the buds, the flowers, and the leaves. You will
have none of Pisistratus, and you are wrong. It was he who, in placing
himself at the head of the poorer classes, prepared the future greatness
of Athens. As for his two sons, Hipparchus and Hippias, I abandon them
to you. But Aclysthenes, who increased the number of senators to five
hundred, as our Convention has just done, began the period of the great
Persian wars. Miltiades defeated the Persians at Marathon; Pichegru has
just conquered the Prussians and the Austrians. Themistocles destroyed
the Persian fleet at Salamis; Moreau has just captured the Dutch fleet
by a cavalry charge. It is even more original. The liberty of Greece
sprang from the very wars which seemed to threaten her with inevitable
destruction, as ours has from our war with foreign powers. Then it was
that the privileges were extended; then it was that the archons and
magistrates were chosen from all classes irrespective of degree.
Moreover, you forget that Æschylus was born during this fertile period.
Illuminated by the unconscious divination of power, he created the
character of Prometheus; or, in other words, the revolt of man against
tyranny--Æschylus, the younger brother of Homer, who seems nevertheless
the elder."
"Bravo! bravo!" said a voice. "You are strong in literature, upon my
word. But in the meantime they are cutting one another's throats in the
Section Le Peletier and the Quartier Feydeau. There, just hear the
bells! They have returned from Rome."
"Ah! is it you, Barbé-Marbois," said Madame de Staël, addressing a man
in the forties, very handsome, but with the pomposity and vapidity which
is so often met with in palaces and among diplomats--a very honest man
for all that, and the son-in-law of William Moore, the president and
governor of Pennsylvania. "Where do you come from?"
"Straight from the Convention."
"And what are they doing there?"
"Arguing. They have outlawed the Sectionists and are arming the
patriots. As for the Sectionists, they have already found the bells,
which proves that they are monarchists in disguise. To-morrow they will
find their guns, and then there will be a fine rumpus."
"What can you expect?" asked a man with straight hair, hollow temples,
livid skin, and a crooked mouth; a man who was ugly with the twofold
ugliness of man and beast. "I kept telling them at the Convention, 'As
long as you do not have an organized police and a minister of
police--one who is not only appointed to the office but fitted for
it--things will go to the devil.' Well, I who have a dozen fellows under
me for the pleasure of it--I who am an amateur policeman because I like
the business--I am better informed than they."
"And what do you know, Monsieur Fouché?" asked Madame de Staël.
"Faith, madame, I know that the Chouans have been convoked from all
parts of the kingdom, and that the day before yesterday, at Lemaistre's
house--you know Lemaistre, baroness?"
"Is he not the agent of the princes?"
"That's the man. Well, the Jura and the Morbihan shook hands there."
"Which means--?" asked Barbé-Marbois.
"Which means that Cadoudal renewed his vow of fidelity, and the Count de
Sainte-Hermine his oath of vengeance."
The other salons had diverged toward the first one, and were gathering
around the new-comers who brought the news which we have already heard.
"We know who Cadoudal is," replied Madame de Staël. "He is a Chouan,
who, after fighting in the Vendée, has crossed the Loire; but who is
this Comte de Sainte-Hermine?"
"The Comte de Sainte-Hermine is a young noble who belongs to one of the
best families of the Jura. He is the second of three sons. His father
was guillotined, his mother died of grief, his brother was shot at
Auenheim, and he has sworn to avenge his father and his brother. The
mysterious president of the Section Le Peletier, the famous Morgan who
insulted the Convention in its own hall of assembly, do you know who he
is?"
"No."
"Well, he is the man."
"Really, Monsieur Fouché," said Benjamin Constant, "you have missed your
vocation. You ought to be neither priest, sailor, deputy, nor
representative; you should be minister of police."
"And if I were," replied Fouché, "Paris would be quieter than it is now.
I ask you, is it not perfectly absurd to quail before the Sections?
Menou ought to be shot."
"Citizen," said Madame Krüdener, who affected republican forms of
speech, "here is citizen Garat; he has just come in, and perhaps he can
give us some news. Garat, what do you know?" And she drew into the
circle a man of thirty-three or four, elegantly dressed.
"He knows that one minim is worth two crotchets," said Benjamin
Constant, mockingly.
Garat rose on the tips of his toes to discover the author of this joke
at his expense. He was strong on minims, a matchless singer, and,
furthermore, one of the most perfect incroyables that the witty pencil
of Horace Vernet has bequeathed to us. He was a nephew of the
Conventional Garat, who wept as he read Louis XVI.'s sentence of death.
Son of a distinguished lawyer, his father wished to make a lawyer of
him, but nature and education produced a singer; for the former had
endowed him with one of the most beautiful voices the world has ever
heard.
An Italian named Lamberti, together with François Beck, the director of
the theatre at Bordeaux, gave him music lessons; which inspired him with
such a passion for music that when he was sent to Paris to take a course
in law he took a course in singing instead. When his father heard of
this he stopped his allowance. The Comte d'Artois then appointed him his
private secretary, and had him sing before Marie-Antoinette, who
immediately admitted him to her private concerts.
Garat thus became completely estranged from his father, for nothing will
estrange father and son quicker than the withdrawal of the latter's
allowance. The Comte d'Artois intending to visit Bordeaux, he suggested
that Garat accompany him. The latter hesitated at first, but the desire
to let his father see him in his new position induced him to go. At
Bordeaux he found his old master Beck in penury, and he arranged a
concert for his benefit. Curiosity to hear a man from their own
department, who had already attained fame as a singer, prevailed, and
the people of Bordeaux flocked to hear him. The receipts were enormous,
and Garat's success was so great that his father, who was present, left
his place and threw himself in his son's arms. In consequence of this
amend, _coram populo_, Garat forgave him.
Garat remained an amateur until the beginning of the Revolution; but the
loss of his fortune compelled him to become a professional artist. In
1793 he started for England, but the vessel in which he sailed, driven
by contrary winds, landed him at Hamburg instead. Seven or eight
concerts, which were attended with great success, enabled him to return
to France with a thousand louis, which were each worth seven or eight
hundred francs in paper money. Upon his return he met Madame Krüdener,
and became intimate with her.
The Thermidorean reaction adopted Garat, and there was not, at the time
of which we are speaking, a great concert, a brilliant gathering, or an
elegant exhibition, at which he did not figure as the foremost of the
artists, singers or invited guests. This good fortune made Garat very
susceptible, as we have seen, and there was nothing astonishing in the
fact that he looked about him to see who had declared that his musical
knowledge was limited to the incontrovertible fact that one minim is
worth two crotchets. It must be remembered that it was Benjamin
Constant, another incroyable, not less susceptible than Garat upon the
point of honor, who had spoken.
"Look no further, citizen," said he, holding out his hand; "it is I who
advanced that daring opinion. If you do know anything else tell it to
us."
Garat pressed the hand as frankly as it had been offered.
"Faith, no," he said; "I have just come from Cléry Hall. My carriage
could not pass the Pont-Neuf, which was guarded, so I was obliged to get
here by the quays, where the drums are making a devil of a noise. I
crossed the Pont Égalité. It is raining in torrents. Mesdames Todi and
Mara sang, exquisitely, three or four selections from Gluck and
Cimarosa."
"What did I tell you?" asked Benjamin Constant.
"Is it indeed drums that we hear?" asked a voice.
"Yes," replied Garat, "but they are relaxed by the rain, and nothing is
more lugubrious than the sound of wet drums."
"Ah! here is Boissy d'Anglas," exclaimed Madame de Staël. "He has
probably come from the Convention, unless he has resigned his position
as president."
"Yes, baroness," said Boissy d'Anglas, with his melancholy smile, "I
have come from the Convention; and I wish I could bring you better
news."
"Good!" said Barbé-Marbois, "another Prairial?"
"If that were all," sighed Boissy d'Anglas.
"What is it, then?"
"Unless I am much mistaken, all Paris will be in flames to-morrow. And
this time it is indeed civil war. The Section Le Peletier replied to our
last summons that 'The Convention has five thousand men, and the
Sections sixty thousand; we will give the Conventionals until daybreak
to-morrow to vacate the hall of sessions. If it is not done by that time
we will drive you out.'"
"And what do you intend to do, gentlemen?" asked Madame-Récamier, in her
soft and charming voice.
"Why, madame," replied Boissy d'Anglas, "we intend to emulate the Roman
senators when the Gauls invaded the Capitol; we shall die at our posts."
"Would it be possible to see that?" asked M. Récamier with the utmost
self-possession. "I have seen the Convention massacred by piecemeal,
and I should like to see it done in a body."
"Be there to-morrow about one o'clock," replied Boissy d'Anglas, with
the same imperturbable calm. "That is probably when the struggle will
begin."
"Oh, not at all," cried a new arrival; "you will not secure the glory of
martyrdom for yourselves, you are saved."
"Come, no pleasantries, Saint-Victor," said Madame de Staël to the last
speaker.
"Madame, I never jest," said Coster de Saint-Victor, greeting Madame de
Staël, Madame de Krüdener, and Madame Récamier with a comprehensive bow.
"But what is the news? What do you mean by this universal salvation?"
asked Benjamin Constant.
"The news, ladies and gentlemen--I beg pardon, citizens and
citizenesses--is that, in accordance with a proposition of the citizen
Merlin of Douai, the National Convention has just decreed that
Brigadier-General Barras is to be appointed commander of the armed
forces, in reward for his services in Thermidor. It is true he cannot
make long speeches, but he excels in the construction of short, but
vehement and energetic phrases. Do you not see that since General Barras
is to defend the Convention, the Convention is saved? And now that I
have done my duty in reassuring you, baroness, I am going home to make
my preparations."
"For what?" asked Madame de Staël.
"To fight against him to-morrow, madame, and right willingly too."
"Then you are a royalist, Coster?"
"Why, yes," replied the young man; "I find that there are more pretty
women in that party than in the others. And then--and then--then I have
other reasons which are known only to myself."
And bowing a second time with his accustomed elegance, he went out,
leaving everybody to comment upon the news he had brought, and which, it
is needless to say, did not completely reassure them, Coster de
Saint-Victor notwithstanding.
But as the tocsin was ringing ever louder and louder, as the drums
continued to beat, and the rain was still falling, there was no hope of
further news, and as the bronze clock representing Marius among the
ruins of Carthage was chiming the hour of four, they called their
carriages, and went away, secretly uneasy, but outwardly confident.
CHAPTER XVII
THE HOTEL OF THE RIGHTS OF MAN
As Coster de Saint-Victor had announced, Barras had been appointed about
one o'clock in the morning commander of the forces within and without
Paris, and all civil and military authorities were placed under his
orders.
This choice did not deserve Coster de Saint-Victor's derision. Barras
was brave, cool, and devoted to the cause of liberty, and at Toulon he
had given irrefutable proofs of his bravery and patriotism. He did not
deceive himself in regard to the danger of the situation, and the
terrible responsibility which rested upon his shoulders. Nevertheless,
he remained perfectly calm. Even while pushing his appointment with all
his might, he had known of an auxiliary, unknown to all others, upon
whom he could rely.
He therefore left the Tuileries immediately after his nomination,
attired in a long dark overcoat, and hesitated a moment whether to take
a carriage or not; but thinking that a carriage would attract notice and
might be stopped, he drew a large pair of pistols from his pocket, and
contented himself with securing them in his deputy's sash beneath his
overcoat. Then he set off on foot through the Echelle wicket. He went
along the Rue Traversière, passed the Palais Royal, followed the Rue
Neuve-des-Petits-Champs for a few steps, and found himself opposite the
Rue des Fosses-Montmartre. It had been pouring in torrents during all
this time.
Everything was in frightful confusion, a fact of which Barras was well
aware. He knew that the artillery was still in the camp at Sablons, and
that it was guarded by one hundred and fifty men only. He also knew that
there were only eighty thousand cartridges in the magazine, and that
there were no provisions and no brandy. He knew that all communication
with the staff, who had their headquarters on the Boulevard des
Capucines, was cut off by the Sectionists of the Club Le Peletier, who
had extended their line of sentinels from the Rue des Filles de
Saint-Thomas as far as the Rue Saint-Pierre-Montmartre and the Place
Vendôme. He was aware of the exasperated pride of the Sectionists, who,
as we have seen, had raised the standard of revolt; he knew of the
expedition of the preceding day, so shamefully conducted by Menou, and
so vigorously received by Morgan, which had doubled their actual
strength and quadrupled their moral strength.
On all sides the report was rife that this Section, hemmed in by thirty
thousand Conventionals, had overawed them by their courage, and had
repulsed them, and forced them to shameful retreat by the skilful
disposition of their troops.
Every one spoke of the audacity which Morgan had displayed in placing
himself between the two troops, of his lofty air, and that hauteur with
which he had addressed General Menou and Representative Laporte. It was
whispered, but whispered with the greatest precautions, that he was a
great personage, a very great personage, who had only returned to Paris
some three or four days before, bearing letters of the highest
recommendation to the royalist committees in Paris from the royalist
committees in London.
The Convention was already no longer hated; it was despised. And, in
truth, what had the Sections to fear from it, spared because of its
weakness? They had united during the night of the 11th, and on the 12th
had sent detachments to support the Mother Section. They therefore felt
that the National Convention would be annihilated, and were prepared to
sing the _De Profundis_ over its corpse.
Thus, on his way across Paris, Barras was constantly confronted by one
or another of those Sections which had come to the assistance of the
Mother Section, and who accosted him thus: "Who goes there?"
To which he replied: "A Sectionist."
At every few steps he met a drummer beating a mournful recall or general
on his relaxed drum, the lugubrious and sinister sound of his mournful
performance being better suited to a funeral procession than to their
actual purpose. Furthermore, men were seen gliding through the streets
like shadows, knocking at doors, and calling upon other men to arm and
repair to the Sections to defend their wives and children, whose throats
the Terrorists had sworn to cut. Perhaps these attempts would have been
less successful in broad daylight; but the mystery which clings to deeds
of the night, entreaties in low tones, as if in fear lest assassins
should overhear the whispered communication, the mournful and incessant
beating of the drums and the ringing of the bells--all this caused
anxiety and trepidation throughout the city, and foretold something
indefinite but terrible that was impending.
Barras saw and heard all that. He was no longer judging of the city from
mere reports; he was feeling its pulse with his own finger. Thus when he
left the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, he hastened his steps almost to a
run as he fled across the Place des Victoires; then gliding along the
Rue Fosses-Montmartre, keeping in the shadow of the houses, he finally
reached the door of the little hotel of "The Rights of Man." Having gone
thus far, he stopped and took a few steps backward, in order to read the
sign which he sought by the fitful light of the lamp; after which,
approaching the door, he rapped vigorously with the knocker.
A man-servant was in attendance, and he, probably judging from the
vigorous knocking that some one of importance was without, did not keep
him waiting long. The door opened cautiously.
Barras slipped through the opening and shut the door behind him. Then,
without waiting to enlighten the servant as to the cause of all these
precautions, he asked: "Citizen Bonaparte lodges here, does he not?"
"Yes, citizen."
"Is he at home?"
"He returned about an hour ago."
"Where is his room?"
"No. 47, on the fourth floor at the end of the corridor."
"Right or left?"
"Left."
"Thanks."
Barras hastened up the stairs, soon reaching the top of the four
flights, took the corridor to the left, and stopped before the door of
No. 47. Once there, he knocked three times.
"Come in," said a curt voice, which seemed made to command.
Barras turned the handle and entered. He found himself in a room
furnished with a curtainless bed, two tables, one large and the other
small, four chairs and a globe. A sword and a pair of pistols hung on
the wall. A young man, completely dressed, except for his uniform, was
seated at the smaller of the two tables, studying a plan of Paris by the
light of the lamp.
At the sound of the opening door, the occupant of the room turned
half-way around in his chair to see who the unexpected visitor, who came
at such an hour, could be. As he sat thus the lamp lighted
three-quarters of his face, leaving the rest in shade.
He was about twenty-three or four, with an olive complexion, somewhat
lighter at the temples and forehead. His straight black hair was parted
in the middle and fell down below his ears. His eagle eye, straight nose
and strong chin and lower jaw, increasing in size as it approached his
ears, left no doubt as to the trend of his abilities. He was a man of
war, belonging to the race of conquerors. Seen thus, and lighted in this
way, his face looked like a bronze medallion. He was so thin that all
the bones in his face were plainly discernible.
CHAPTER XVIII
CITIZEN BONAPARTE
Barras closed the door and stepped within the circle of light cast by
the lamp. Then only did the young man recognize him.
"Ah! is it you, citizen Barras?" he asked without rising.
Barras shook himself, for he was drenched, and tossed his dripping hat
upon a chair. The young man continued to watch him attentively.
"Yes, it is I, citizen Bonaparte," said he.
"What wind has blown you to the poor soldier's cell at this hour. A
mistral or a sirocco?"
"Mistral, my dear Bonaparte; a mistral of the most violent kind."
The young man gave a dry, harsh laugh, which showed his small, sharp,
white teeth.
"I know something about it," he said. "I took a walk through Paris this
evening."
"And what is your opinion?"
"It is that, as the Section Le Peletier intimated to the Convention, the
storm will burst to-morrow."
"And what were you doing in the meantime?"
The young man rose, and pointing with his index finger to the map on the
table, he said: "As you see, I was amusing myself by planning what I
would do if I, instead of that imbecile Menou, were general of the
interior, in order to put an end to all these talkers."
"And what would you do?"
"I would try to secure a dozen cannon which would talk louder than
they."
"Did you not tell me one day at Toulon that you had witnessed the rising
of the 20th of June from the terrace beside the ornamental waters?"
The young man shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
"Yes," he said, "I saw your poor King Louis XVI. put on the red cap,
which did not prevent his head from falling, and which only disgraced
it. And I even said to Bourrienne, who was with me that day, 'How could
they admit that rabble to the château? They should have swept four or
five hundred out with cannon, the rest would have run out of
themselves.'"
"Unfortunately," resumed Barras, "to-day there are five thousand instead
of five hundred to be swept out."
The young man smiled carelessly.
"A difference of number, that is all," he replied; "but what ultimate
difference, so long as the result is the same? The rest is a mere matter
of detail."
"So much so that you were defeating the insurgents when I came in?"
"I was making the endeavor."
"And you had your plan laid out?"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"That depends. How many soldiers can you call upon?"
"Five or six thousand, including the Holy Battalion of Patriots."
"With that number it is useless to think of attacking forty-five or
fifty thousand in the streets. I tell you that plainly."
"Would you evacuate Paris?"
"No, but I would convert the Convention into an intrenched camp. I would
await the attack of the Sections, and I would annihilate them in the Rue
Saint-Honoré, the Place du Palais-Royal, and along the quays and the
bridges."
"Well," said Barras, "I will adopt your plan. Will you attend to the
execution of it?"
"I?"
"Yes, you."
"In what capacity?"
"As second general of the interior."
"And who is to be general-in-chief?"
"General-in-chief?"
"Yes."
"Citizen Barras."
"Then I accept," said the young man, holding out his hand, "but on one
condition."
"What, you are making conditions?"
"Why not?"
"Go on."
"If we succeed, and order is restored by to-morrow evening, I can count
upon you if war is declared with Austria, can I not?"
"If we succeed to-morrow, in the first place you shall have all the
glory, and I shall ask the chief command of the Armies of the Rhine and
the Moselle for you."
Bonaparte shook his head. "I will go neither to Holland nor to Germany,"
he said.
"Why not?"
"Because there is nothing to be done there."
"Where do you wish to go?"
"To Italy. It is only in Italy, on the battlefields of Hannibal, Marius
and Cæsar that there is anything to be done."
"If there is war in Italy you shall be placed in charge of it, I give
you my word of that."
"Thank you. And now let us think of to-morrow. There is no time to
lose."
Barras drew out his watch and looked at it.
"I should think not," he said; "it is already three o'clock in the
morning."
"How many cannon have you at the Tuileries?"
"Six four-pounders, but no gunners."
"They can be found. Bronze is scarcer than flesh. How many rounds can be
fired?"
"Oh! eighty thousand at the outside."
"Eighty thousand--just enough to kill eighty men, supposing that one
shot out of a thousand does execution. Luckily we still have three hours
of darkness left to us. We must have all the guns brought from the camp
at Sablons, so that, in the first place, the enemy cannot seize them,
and then because we need them ourselves. We must take enough men from
the gendarmerie and from the battalion of '89 to man the guns, and we
must send for at least a million cartridges from Meudon and Marly.
Finally we must find officers upon whom we can depend."
"We have all those who were deposed by Aubry and who have enlisted in
the Holy Battalion."
"Splendid! They are men of action rather than intelligence, and that is
what we need." And the young officer rose, buckled on his sword,
buttoned his coat, and blew out his light, murmuring, "Oh! Fortune,
Fortune! do I at last hold you within my grasp?"
The two men went out and directed their steps toward the Convention.
Barras noticed that the young man did not lock his door, which showed
that he had nothing of value to lose.
Five hours later--that is to say, at eight in the morning--this is what
the two officers had accomplished.
They reached the camp at Sablons in time to bring the artillery to
Paris. They established a manufactory of cartridges at Meudon. They
planted guns at every avenue, and masked batteries were erected in the
event of any of the outlets being carried. A battery, consisting of two
eight-pounders and two howitzers, was erected on the Place du Carrousel
to cover the columns and to fire on the windows of the houses from which
weapons could be brought to bear upon the place. General Verdier
commanded at the Palais National. Means of subsistence for the
Convention and its soldiers were thus assured for four or five days in
case of blockade. Guns and troops were stationed in and around the
building occupied by the Convention--in the cul-de-sac of the Dauphin,
in the Rues de Rohan and Saint-Nicaise, at the Palais-Égalité, at the
Pont de la Révolution, and the Place Vendôme. A small body of cavalry
and two thousand infantry were kept in reserve at the Carrousel and in
the garden of the Tuileries.
Thus this great Convention of France, which had overturned a monarchy
that had endured for centuries; which had made every throne in Europe
tremble; which had driven the English from Holland, and the Austrians
and the Prussians from Champagne and Alsace; which had driven the
Spanish troops one hundred and eighty miles beyond the Pyrenees, and
destroyed the two Vendées--this great Convention of France, which had
just united Belgium, Nice, Savoy, and Luxemburg to France, whose armies,
passing like a whirlwind through Europe, had leaped the Rhine as though
it had been a brook, and threatened to pursue the eagle of Hapsburg to
Vienna; this National Convention possessed nothing in Paris but the
banks of the Seine, from the Rue Dauphine to the Rue du Bac, and only
those parts of the city on the other side of the river which were
included between the Place de la Révolution and the Place des Victoires;
and to defend itself against all Paris it had only five thousand men and
a general who was almost unknown.
CHAPTER XIX
CITIZEN GARAT
On several points, and particularly along the Pont-Neuf, the sentinels
of the Sections and those of the Convention were so near to one another
that they could easily talk together.
A few unimportant skirmishes occurred during the morning. The Section
Poissonière stopped the men and the guns who were on their way to the
Section Quinze-Vingts. That of Mont-Blanc captured a convoy of
provisions intended for the Tuileries. A detachment from the Section Le
Peletier took possession of the bank. And finally Morgan, with a corps
of five hundred men, almost all émigrés or Chouans, all wearing collars
and pompons of green, advanced toward the Pont-Neuf, while the Section
of the Comédie-Française descended by way of the Rue Dauphine.
About four o'clock in the afternoon nearly fifty thousand men surrounded
the Convention. It seemed as though gusts of fierce breath and furious
menace could be felt in the air. During the day the Conventional party
held several parleys with the Sectionists. Both sides were feeling their
opponent's pulse. For example, toward noon, Representative Garat was
directed to carry a decree from the Convention to the Section de
l'Indivisibilité. He took an escort of thirty horsemen, fifteen
chasseurs and fifteen dragoons. The battalions of the Museum and the
French guards, which had joined the Convention, and which were stationed
in and about the Louvre, presented arms when he appeared.
As for the Pont-Neuf, it was guarded by Republicans, under the command
of that same General Cartaux who had been Bonaparte's superior officer
at Toulon, and who was not much surprised to find the positions
reversed. At the Pont du Change, Garat found a battalion of Sectionists
who stopped him. But Garat was a man of action. He drew his pistol and
commanded the thirty men to unsheath their swords. At sight of the
pistols and the naked steel, the Sectionists let them pass.
Garat was charged with the task of winning the adherence of the Section
de l'Invisibilité to the Convention. But despite his persuasions, it
persisted in its determination to remain neutral. Garat's next duty was
to ascertain whether the battalions of Montreuil and Popincourt intended
to support the Sections or the Convention; he therefore made his way to
the faubourg. At the entrance of the main street he found the battalion
of Montreuil under arms. At sight of him, they shouted with one accord:
"Long live the Convention!"
Garat wanted to take the battalion back with him, but they were waiting
for Popincourt's force, which had also declared for the Convention. They
told him, however, that two hundred men of the Quinze-Vingts Section had
remained behind, and were desirous of going to the assistance of the
Convention. Garat learned where they were, and went to them to question
them.
"March at our head," they said, "and we will follow you."
Garat put his fifteen dragoons at their head and his fifteen chasseurs
in the rear, and marched in front of the little troop, pistol in hand;
and the two hundred men, of whom only fifty were armed, started for the
Tuileries. They passed before the Montreuil battalion; the Popincourts
had not arrived as yet. The Montreuils wished to march with them, but
their commander demanded an order from Barras. Upon his return to the
Tuileries, Garat sent him one by an aide-de-camp. The battalion started
at once and arrived in time to take part in the action.
Meantime, Cartaux had assumed command of the detachment with which he
was to defend the Pont-Neuf. He had only three hundred and fifty men and
two pieces of artillery. He sent word to Bonaparte that he could not
hold the position with so small a force.
For reply he received the following, in an almost illegible scrawl:
You will hold out to the last extremity.--BONAPARTE.
This was the first written order ever given by the young general; it is
a good example of his concise style.
But about two o'clock in the afternoon, a column of a thousand or twelve
hundred men, composed of Sectionists of the Unité and the
Fontaine-de-Grenelle, advanced upon that part of the Pont-Neuf
contiguous to the Rue Dauphine. There it was stopped by a military
outpost. Then one of the Sectionists, carrying a magnificent bouquet,
tied with tri-colored ribbon, came forward from the ranks. Cartaux sent
an aide-de-camp to forbid the column to advance unless they could show
an order from the Committee of Public Safety or from General-in-chief
Barras.
The aide-de-camp returned, accompanied by the commander of the Unité,
who declared, in the name of the two Sections, that he bore the
olive-branch and wished to fraternize with the general and the troops
under his orders.
"Go and tell your president," said Cartaux, "that it is not to me, but
to the National Convention that you should carry your olive-branch. Let
a deputation of four unarmed men be selected, and I will have them
conducted in safety to the Convention, which alone can receive this
symbol of peace and fraternity."
This was not the reply that the leader expected to receive; he therefore
replied that, after deliberation, they would return again in a still
more fraternal manner. Thereupon the leader retired, and the two
Sections were shortly after drawn up in line of battle along the Quai
Conti and Quai Malaquais. This disposal of forces denoted hostile
intentions which soon became evident.
About three o'clock in the afternoon, Cartaux saw a column advancing
along the Rue de la Monnaie, of such strength that its front filled the
entire street; and, although he was standing on the highest point of the
Pont-Neuf, he could not see the end of it. A third column arrived at the
same time by the Quai de la Ferraille, while a fourth filed behind the
others to cut off the Pont-Neuf by the Quai de l'École.
Notwithstanding the order which he had received to hold the position to
the last extremity, General Cartaux saw clearly that he had not a moment
to lose if he wished to retire safely without betraying his weakness to
the enemy. The gunners immediately received the order to limber up. Two
companies led the way as far as the garden of the Infanta, followed by
the two guns.
The remainder of the troop was divided into four companies; one facing
the Sectionists, who were advancing along the Rue de la Monnaie; another
threatening the column on the Quai de la Ferraille, and the others
covering the retreat of the artillery. The column of the Pont-Neuf
remained in the centre to arrest the column of the Unité, and to mask
the manœuvre.
Scarcely had Cartaux taken up his position in the garden of the Infanta,
than he recalled the two companies who were facing the Rue de la Monnaie
and the Quai de la Ferraille, together with the cavalry. The movement
was executed in splendid order, but the Sectionists immediately occupied
the abandoned post.
In the meantime Garat returned with his fifteen chasseurs, fifteen
dragoons, and the two hundred and fifty men of the Section of the
Quinze-Vingts, of which only fifty were armed. The Pont-Neuf bristled
with bayonets. He thought they belonged to the Republicans whom he had
left on guard there. But once in their midst he realized, from their
green collars and pompons, that he had to do not only with Sectionists,
but with Chouans. At that moment the commander of the Sectionists, who
was none other than Morgan, advanced toward him, and recognized in him
one of the men whom he had seen at the Convention.
"I beg your pardon, Monsieur Garat," said he, taking off his hat, "but
you seem to be in some trouble, and I should like to assist you if
possible. What can I do for you?"
Garat recognized him also, and immediately saw through the jest. But
preferring to adopt another tone, he drew his pistol, and, cocking it,
said: "Monsieur, I want a passage for myself and my men."
But Morgan continued, still in the same jesting tone: "Nothing could be
more reasonable, and indeed we owe it to you, if only for General
Cartaux's civility in yielding this post to us without a struggle. But
uncock your pistol. Misfortunes happen so easily! Suppose it went off by
accident; my men would think you had fired upon me, and they would cut
you to pieces, you and your little troop, which is only half armed as it
is. That would displease me greatly, as people would say that we had
taken advantage of our superior numbers."
Garat uncocked his pistol.
"But why are you here, anyway?" he asked.
"As you see," said Morgan, with a laugh, "we have come to help the
Convention."
"Commander," said Garat, jokingly, "you must admit that you have a
strange way of helping people."
"Come, I see you do not believe me," said Morgan, "and that I must tell
you the truth. Well, then, there are a hundred thousand of us in Paris,
and a million in France. Is that not so, Coster?"
The young muscadin whom he addressed, and who was armed to the teeth,
contented himself with a nod, accompanied by the single word: "More!"
"You see," said Morgan, "my friend here, Coster de Saint-Victor, who is
a man of honor, confirms what I have just told you. Well, we are more
than a hundred thousand strong in Paris, and more than a million strong
in France, and we have sworn to exterminate the Conventionals, to
destroy the building in which the king's death-warrant was signed, and
whence so many death-warrants, like flights of ill-omened birds, have
issued. Not only shall the men be punished, but the expiation must
extend to the very stones. To-morrow not a member of the Convention will
be alive; not a stone will remain standing in the building where the
Convention sits. We shall sow the place where it stood with salt, and
the ground on which it was built shall be handed over to the execration
of posterity."
"If you are so sure of the results of the day, commander," said Garat,
resuming his jesting tone, "it ought to make little difference to you
whether you have two hundred men more or less to fight against."
"No difference at all," replied Morgan.
"In that case, I ask you for the second time to let me pass. I prefer
to die with my colleagues, and to find a tomb in this building which you
are going to bring down upon our heads."
"Then dismount from your horse, give me your arm, and let us go first.
Gentlemen," continued Morgan, addressing his men with that inflection of
the voice which, without suggesting the incroyable, betrayed the
aristocrat, "let us play fair. Citizen Garat asks to be allowed to go to
the defence of the Convention with his two hundred and fifty men, of
whom only fifty are armed. His request seems to me to be so reasonable,
and the poor Convention is in such sore straits, that I do not think we
ought to oppose his kindly sentiments."
Bursts of ironical laughter welcomed this motion, which did not need to
be put to the vote to be passed. A clear path was made at once, and,
with Morgan and Garat at their head, the little column advanced.
"A pleasant journey!" cried Coster de Saint-Victor after them.
CHAPTER XX
THE OUTPOSTS
Morgan pretended not to have noticed that he had passed his own
outposts. He continued to advance arm in arm with Garat as far as the
colonnade. He was one of those rigidly honest men who have confidence in
his enemies even, and who believed that, in France at least, courage was
the truest prudence.
When he reached the colonnade of the Louvre, Morgan found himself not
more than twenty paces distant from the ranks of the Conventionals, and
less than ten from the spot where General Cartaux stood leaning on his
sword. Cartaux was magnificently dressed, and wore a hat with a
tri-color plume which dangled so low before his eyes that he was greatly
annoyed by it.
"You have a magnificent drum-major there," said Morgan; "I congratulate
you upon him."
Garat smiled. It was not the first time that this mistake had been made,
either voluntarily or involuntarily.
"That is not our drum-major," he said, "it is our commander, General
Cartaux."
"Ah! the devil! He is the man who might have taken Toulon, and who,
instead, allowed it to be captured by a little artillery officer
named--what was his name, anyhow?--named Bonaparte, I believe. Ah!
introduce me to this worthy officer; I adore handsome men and
particularly handsome uniforms."
"Willingly," said Garat; and they advanced toward General Cartaux.
"General," said Garat to the colossus in uniform, "I have the honor to
present to you the citizen-president of the Section Le Peletier, who has
not only courteously made way for me through his men, but who has
accompanied me thus far lest any mishap should befall me."
"Citizen," said Cartaux, drawing himself up in order not to lose an inch
of his height, "I join with citizen-conventional Garat in thanking you."
"There is no necessity to do so, general," said Morgan, with his
accustomed courtesy. "I saw you from a distance and wished to make your
acquaintance. Besides, I wished to ask you whether you did not think it
would be well for you to yield me this post, as you did the other,
without bloodshed."
"Is that a jest or a proposition?" asked Cartaux, his coarse voice
growing louder.
"It is a proposition," said Morgan, "and a serious one at that."
"It seems to me that you are too much of a soldier, citizen," said
Cartaux, "not to understand the difference between this position and the
other. The other can be attacked on four sides, while this can be
reached on two only. Now, as you perceive, citizen, here are two guns
ready to receive all those who approach by way of the quays, and two
more for those who come through the Rue Saint-Honoré."
"But why do you not open fire, general?" asked the president,
carelessly. "There is a fine range for cannon between the garden of the
Infanta and the Pont-Neuf--scarcely a hundred feet."
"The general, wishing to place all responsibility of bloodshed upon the
Sectionists, has forbidden us to open fire."
"What general? Barras?"
"No. General Bonaparte."
"Why, is that your little officer of Toulon? So he has made his way up
until now he is a general like you."
"More of a general than I am," replied Cartaux, "since I am under his
orders."
"How disagreeable that must be for you, citizen, and what a piece of
injustice! You who are six feet tall to have to obey a young man of
twenty-four, who, they say, is only five feet one."
"Do you know him?" asked Cartaux.
"No, I have not the honor."
"Well, open fire, and this evening--"
"This evening?"
"This evening you will know him, I promise you."
At that moment the drums were heard beating a salute, and a group of
staff-officers emerged through the gate of the Louvre, among whom Barras
was noticeable for the splendor of his uniform and Bonaparte for the
simplicity of his.
He was, as we have said, short and thin, and as, from where Morgan
stood, it was impossible to distinguish the fine lines of his face, he
looked insignificant, riding as he was behind Barras.
"Ah," said Morgan, "that is something new!"
"Yes," replied Garat. "See! there is General Barras and General
Bonaparte; they are going to visit the outposts."
"And which of the two is General Bonaparte?" asked Morgan.
"The one on the black horse."
"Why! he is a child who has not yet had time to grow," said Morgan,
shrugging his shoulders.
"Don't worry," said Cartaux, laying his hand on Morgan's shoulder, "he
will grow."
Barras, Bonaparte, and the rest of the staff continued to advance toward
General Cartaux.
"I will stay," said Morgan; "I should like to see this Bonaparte close
at hand."
"Then hide behind me, or, rather, behind Cartaux," said Garat; "you will
have more room."
Morgan drew back and the cavalcade approached the general. Barras drew
rein before General Cartaux, but Bonaparte rode forward a few steps
further, and remained alone in the middle of the quay. As he was only
half a musket shot from the Sectionist ranks, several muskets were aimed
at him; whereupon Morgan sprang forward, and, with one bound, placed
himself between the Sectionists and the general's body. Then, with a
wave of his hat, he commanded them to lower their muskets.
Bonaparte rose in his stirrups, apparently unmindful of what had just
taken place before him. The Pont-Neuf, the Rue de la Monnaie, the Quai
de la Vallée, the Rue de Thionville, and the Quai Conti as far as the
Institute, were thronged with armed men. As far as the eye could reach
along the Quai de l'École, the Quai de la Mégisserie, and the Quai des
Morfondus, muskets gleamed in the sun, thick as spears of wheat in a
wheat field.
"How many men do you think there are before you, citizen Cartaux," asked
Bonaparte.
"I could not say exactly," replied Cartaux. "In open country I could
guess within a thousand men, but here in the streets and quays I cannot
make even an approximate guess."
"General, if you want to know the exact number," said Garat, "ask the
citizen who has just prevented those men from firing upon you. He can
tell you."
Bonaparte glanced at the young man as if he now saw him for the first
time.
"Citizen," said he with a slight bow, "will you be good enough to give
me the information I desire?"
"I think, monsieur," said Morgan, taking care to address the Republican
general in the manner used before the Revolution, "you asked the number
of men opposed to you?"
"Yes," replied Bonaparte, fixing a penetrating eye upon his
interlocutor.
"Before you, monsieur," resumed Morgan, "there are, visible or
invisible, some thirty or thirty-two thousand men; ten thousand men in
the direction of the Rue Saint-Roch; ten thousand between the Place des
Filles de Saint-Thomas and the Barrière des Sergents. In the
neighborhood of fifty-six thousand, as you see."
"Is that all?" asked Bonaparte.
"Do you not think that is enough to oppose to your five thousand?"
"You say you are sure of the number?" asked Bonaparte without replying
to the other's question.
"Perfectly so, since I am one of their principal leaders."
A flash gleamed in the young general's eye, and he stared at Cartaux.
"How comes it that the citizen-Sectionist is here?" he asked; "is he
your prisoner?"
"No, citizen-general," replied Cartaux.
"Did he come under a flag of truce?"
"No."
Bonaparte frowned. "But there must be some reason why he is in your
ranks," he said.
"Citizen-general," said Garat, advancing, "I was with one hundred and
fifty men, whom I had recruited in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, when we
fell in with citizen Morgan and his troops. In order that neither I nor
my men should suffer harm, he himself brought me here with a generosity
and loyalty deserving of the utmost gratitude. Citizen Morgan, I thank
you for the service you have rendered me, and I assert that not only
have we no pretext for detaining you here, but that if we did so it
would be in flagrant violation of honor and the rights of man.
Citizen-general Bonaparte, I therefore ask your permission for the
citizen to retire."
And Garat, advancing toward Morgan, clasped his hand, while Bonaparte,
waving his hand toward the Sectionist outposts, made a sign to Morgan to
return to his men. The latter bowed courteously to Bonaparte and walked
slowly off, whistling the air of "La Belle Gabrielle."
CHAPTER XXI
THE STEPS OF SAINT-ROCH
As soon as Morgan had joined the Sectionists, and stood facing
Bonaparte, the latter saluted him by drawing his sword, and then,
turning to Cartaux, he said:
"You did well, general, to abandon the Pont-Neuf, in spite of the order
which I gave you. You could not hold it with three hundred men against
thirty-two thousand. But here you have more than a thousand men, and
this is the Thermopylæ of the Convention; you must die rather than yield
a single step. Come, Barras!"
Barras saluted General Cartaux and followed Bonaparte as though he were
already accustomed to receiving orders from him. Then, continuing along
the Quai, the young general ordered two guns to be placed a little below
the balcony of Charles IX., to command the flank of the Quai Conti.
Then, continuing to follow the Quai, he entered the court of the
Carrousel. He had left by the swing-bridge at the extreme end of the
Tuileries, had crossed the Place de la Révolution--where there was a
strong reserve force of men and artillery--had followed the line of the
Feuillants, the Place Vendôme, the Cul-de-sac du Dauphin, the Rue
Saint-Honoré, and had then returned by way of the Louvre and re-entered
by the Carrousel.
Just as Bonaparte and Barras disappeared within the gate of the
Carrousel, a messenger bearing a flag of truce was introduced to them
with all the ceremonial customary among men all over the civilized world
when treating with fortified towns. The bearer approached them through
the gate of L'Echelle, on the opposite side of the Carrousel, and was
preceded by a trumpeter. Questioned as to his errand, he said that he
came with proposals from citizen Danican, general-in-chief of the
Sectionists.
The two generals led him to the hall of the Convention, where the
bandage covering his eyes was removed. Then, in a threatening voice, he
offered peace on condition that the battalion of the Patriots should be
disarmed and the decrees of Fructidor repealed. Then the Convention gave
way to a weakness, which, to their shame, is often manifest in large
assemblies. And the strangest part of all was that this weakness
emanated from a quarter where the greatest strength had been looked for.
Boissy d'Anglas, so grand, so firm, so like the ancients on the 1st
Prairial, now descended from the tribune, and offered the Sectionists,
not what they had demanded, but a conference with Danican, in which they
might come to an understanding. Another deputy proposed to disarm all
those patriots of '89 whose conduct during the Revolution had been
reprehensible. Finally a third proposed a more reprehensible measure
than the preceding ones; namely, to trust to the good faith of the
Sections. Lanjuinais, who had so resolutely withstood the Jacobins and
who had dared to oppose the massacres of September, yielded to fear, and
suggested that it would be well to accept the proposals of these "good
citizens." Now the "good citizens" were none other than the Sectionists.
One of the Conventionals went even further, crying: "I am told that some
assassins have crept into the battalion of the patriots of '89. I demand
that they be shot."
But then Chénier sprang to the tribune. The poet's head was conspicuous
among all that throng of heads. His brow was inspired, not by the muse
of drama, but by the genius of patriotism.
"I am in truth amazed," he cried, "that you should dare to consider the
demands of the revolted Sections. There can be no middle course for the
Convention. Victory or death! When the Convention has conquered, it will
be time enough to separate the guilty from those who are only misguided.
Talk of assassins," he continued; "what of the assassins in the revolted
parties!"
Lanjuinais ascended the tribune and said: "I foresee civil war."
Twenty voices cried out at the same time: "Civil war! It is you who are
bringing it about."
Lanjuinais endeavored to reply, but cries of "Down! Down!" came from all
parts of the hall.
It is true that just then they had seen General Bonaparte receive some
stacks of arms.
"For whom are these arms?" they cried.
"For the Convention, if it is worthy of them," replied he.
The inspiration breathed by the young general's reply thrilled every
heart.
"Arms! Give us arms!" cried the Conventionals. "We will die together!"
The Convention, humiliated for a moment, had recovered itself. The lives
of its representatives were not yet saved, but their honor was.
Bonaparte profited by the spark of enthusiasm which he had just kindled.
Each deputy received a musket and a packet of cartridges. Barras
exclaimed: "We are going to die in the streets in defence of the
Convention. It is for you to die here, if need be, in defence of
liberty."
Chénier, who had been the hero of the session, ascended the tribune
again, and, with that eloquence which is akin to grandeur, he raised his
arms to heaven, saying: "O Thou, who for the last six years hath guided
the ship of the Revolution through the most frightful tempests, amid
the rocks of contending parties; Thou, through whose aid we have
conquered Europe without a government and without rulers, without
generals, and with soldiers without pay, O thou, Genius of Liberty,
watch over us Thy last defenders!"
At that moment, as though in answer to Chénier's prayer, the first shots
were heard. Every deputy seized his musket, and, biting off his
cartridge, loaded it. It was a solemn moment, during which nothing but
the sound of ramrods in the musket barrels was heard.
Ever since early morning the Republicans, provoked by the grossest
insults and even by occasional shots, had obeyed with heroic patience
the order not to fire. But attacked this time by a volley from a court
which the Sectionists had captured, and seeing one Republican drop dead,
and others, wounded, totter and even fall, they replied by a volley.
Bonaparte at the first shot hastened into the court of the Tuileries.
"Who fired first?" he asked.
"The Sectionists," came the answer from all sides.
"Then all is well," he said. "And it will not be my fault if our
uniforms are reddened with French blood."
He listened; it seemed to him that the firing was heaviest in the
direction of Saint-Roch. He set out at a gallop, and found two pieces of
artillery at the Feuillants, which he ordered to be limbered up, and
advanced with them to the head of the Rue du Dauphin.
The Rue du Dauphin was a furnace. The Republicans held the street and
were defending it. But the Sectionists occupied all the windows, and
stood in groups upon the steps of the church of Saint-Roch, whence they
were raining a hail of bullets upon their adversaries.
Bonaparte arrived at this moment, followed by his two pieces of
artillery and the battalion of '89. He ordered the two officers of the
battalion to advance into the Rue Saint-Honoré, amid and in spite of
the terrible fusillade, and wheel one to the right and the other to the
left.
The officers called their men, executed the requisite manœuvre, and
fired in the direction designated, one toward the Palais Royal and the
other toward the Place Vendôme. At the same moment a hurricane of fire
swept along behind them. It was caused by General Bonaparte's two
cannon, which vomited fire simultaneously and covered the steps of the
church of Saint-Roch with corpses and blood.
CHAPTER XXII
THE ROUT
When the smoke from the cannon had cleared, the Sectionists who remained
standing could see, not fifty paces from them, Bonaparte on horseback in
the midst of his gunners, who were reloading their guns. They replied to
the cannonade by a heavy fire. Seven or eight of the gunners fell, and
Bonaparte's black horse sank to the ground, shot dead by a bullet in the
forehead.
"Fire!" cried Bonaparte as he fell.
The cannon thundered a second time. Bonaparte had time to rise. He had
concealed the battalion of '89 in the Cul-de-sac de Dauphine, which they
had reached through the stables.
"This way, volunteers!" he cried, drawing his sword.
The battalion of volunteers rushed toward him with drawn swords. They
were tried men who had seen all the first battles of the Revolution.
Bonaparte noticed an old drummer standing in a corner.
"Come here," he said, "and beat the charge."
"The charge, my boy," said the old drummer, who saw that he had to do
with a young man of twenty-five; "you want the charge? well, you shall
have it; and a warm one."
And, placing himself at the head of the battalion of '89, he beat the
charge. The regiment marched straight to the church steps, and, with
their bayonets, pinned to the doors all the Sectionists who had remained
standing.
"At a gallop to the Rue Saint-Honoré!" shouted Bonaparte.
The cannon obeyed as if they understood the command. The guns had been
reloaded while the battalion of volunteers were marching against
Saint-Roch.
"Wheel to the right!" said Bonaparte to the gunners in charge of one of
the cannon.
"To the left," he cried to the others.
Then, to both at the same time, he shouted: "Fire!"
And he swept the whole length of the Rue Saint-Honoré with two charges
of grape-shot.
The Sectionists, annihilated, without being able to tell whence the
thunderbolt had fallen, took refuge in the church of Saint-Roch, in the
Théâtre du République, now the Théâtre-Française, and in the
Palais-Égalité. Bonaparte had put them to flight, had broken and
dispersed their ranks; it was for others to drive them from their last
intrenchments. He mounted another horse which was brought him, and
shouted: "Patriots of '89, the honor of the day is yours! Finish what
you have so well begun."
These men who did not know him were astonished at being commanded by a
boy. But they had seen him at work and were dazzled by his calmness
under fire. They scarcely knew his name; they certainly did not know who
he was. They put their hats on the ends of their muskets and cried:
"Long live the Convention!"
The wounded, who were stretched along the side of the houses, raised
themselves upon the doorsteps or clung to the gratings of the windows,
shouting: "Long live the Republic!"
The dead lay in heaps in the street, and blood poured through the
gutters as in a slaughter house, but enthusiasm hovered over the
corpses.
"I have nothing more to do here," said the young general.
And putting spurs to his horse, he rode across the Place Vendôme, which
was now empty, and reached the Rue Florentin almost in the midst of the
fugitives whom he seemed to be pursuing, and from thence he passed into
the Place de la Révolution.
There he directed General Montchoisy, who was in command of the
reserves, to form a column, to take two twelve-pounders, and to advance
by way of the Boulevard to the Porte-Saint-Honoré, in order to return to
the Place Vendôme; from there he was to effect a junction with the guard
attached to the staff in the Rue des Capucines, and with it to return to
the Place Vendôme, and thus drive out all the Sectionists who might
remain there.
At the same time General Brune, obeying General Bonaparte's order,
passed through the Rues Nicaise and Saint-Honoré. All the Sectionists
from the Barrière des Sergents to the Place Vendôme, attacked on three
sides at once, were either killed or taken prisoners. Those who escaped
by the Rue de la Loi, formerly the Rue Richelieu, erected a barrier at
the head of the Rue Saint-Marc.
It was General Danican who made this attempt with some ten thousand men,
whom he had gathered together at the point nearest the Convention,
believing he had only to force the wicket of L'Echelle to reach the
Assembly. Wishing to reserve all the honors of the day for himself, he
had forbidden Morgan, who commanded on the Pont-Neuf, and Coster de
Saint-Victor, who was stationed at the Quai Conti, to take a single
step.
Suddenly Morgan perceived Danican with the remnant of his ten thousand
men advancing through the Rue des Halles and the Place du Châtelet. The
impetus thus given extended to the Quai du Louvre and also to the Quai
Conti. This was the movement which Bonaparte had foreseen when he left
the church of Saint-Roch.
From the Place de la Révolution he saw them advancing in close columns,
on the one side from the garden of the Infanta and on the other from the
Quai Malaquais. He sent two batteries to take up their positions on the
Quai des Tuileries, and ordered them to commence firing at once
diagonally across the river. He then set off at a gallop for the Rue du
Bac, turned three guns, ready loaded, upon the Quai Voltaire, and cried
"Fire!" just as the column emerged from behind the Institute.
Obliged to march in a compact body, as they passed between the monument
and the quai, the Sectionists massed into a deep but narrow body, and it
was at this moment that the artillery commenced to fire, and the shot
swept through their ranks, literally mowing down the battalions as with
a scythe. The battery consisted of six guns, of which only three were
fired at a time, the other three reloading and then firing again in
turn; consequently the firing was incessant.
The Sections wavered and drew back. Coster de Saint-Victor put himself
at their head, rallied them, and was the first to cross the narrow
passage. His men followed him. The cannon thundered on their flank and
in front. His men fell around him while he remained standing about ten
feet in front of the mutilated column, the remnant of which rapidly
withdrew.
The young chief sprang upon the parapet of the bridge, where he stood, a
target for every shot, and harangued them--insulted them, even. Stung by
his sarcasms, the Sectionists attempted once again to cross the passage.
Coster leaped from the parapet and again put himself at their head.
The artillery made terrible havoc as the shot plowed through the ranks;
a single shot killing or wounding at least three or four men. Coster's
hat, which he held in his hand, was carried away, but the hurricane of
fire passed around him without touching him.
Coster looked around only to find himself alone. He recognized the
impossibility of restoring the courage of his followers; then he
glanced in the direction of the Quai du Louvre, and saw that Morgan was
waging deadly battle there with Cartaux. He darted through the Rue
Mazarin to the Rue Guénégaud, and thence to the summit of the Quai
Conti, which was heaped with dead, exposed as it was to the fire of the
battery on the Quai des Tuileries. On his way he rallied round him a
thousand men, crossed the Pont-Neuf with them, and emerged at their head
upon the Quai de l'École.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE VICTORY
The struggle on this side was indeed terrible! Scarcely had Morgan, who
was boiling with impatience, heard Danican's voice, still a long
distance behind, crying "Forward!" than he fell like an avalanche upon
Cartaux's men. The movement was so rapid that the latter had not even
time to present arms and fire. They aimed at random, and then received
Morgan and his men at the point of their bayonets.
The battery under the balcony of Charles IX. narrowly escaped capture,
so unexpected was the attack. The Sectionists were not more than ten
feet away from the guns when the gunners instinctively lowered their
matches and fired.
It would be impossible to describe the horrible and bloody gap which
these three guns, fired thus simultaneously, made in the closely packed
ranks before them; it was like a breach in a wall. The advance of the
Sectionists was so rapid, however, that even this breach did not check
them. But at that moment bullets rained like hail upon the ranks of the
Sectionists from the colonnade of the Louvre, which was covered with
sharpshooters.
Meantime a hand-to-hand battle was being waged in the open space before
the Louvre. The Sectionists were in fact caught between two fires. All
the houses in the Rue des Poulies, the Rue des Fosses-Saint-Germain-
l'Auxerrois, and the Rue des Pretres overlooking the garden of the
Infanta, vomited forth fire and death.
Morgan had promised himself to take Cartaux prisoner. He contrived to
reach him, but Cartaux sought shelter behind the bayonets of his men.
For a moment it was a duel to the death all along the line. The
Sectionists, repulsed by the bayonets, drew back a step, reloaded their
guns, fired pointblank, and then, reversing their weapons, used them as
clubs, and tried to fight their way out of the circle of fire which
surrounded them. But nothing could break it.
Suddenly Morgan felt something give way behind him. The artillery, which
had continued its deadly work, had cut his column in two, and it was
obliged to incline to the right to maintain its position near the
Louvre.
There was now a large open space between the Rue de la Monnaie and the
Pont-Neuf; the Sectionists, not daring to risk themselves upon the Quai
du Louvre, had sought shelter behind the houses in the Rue de la Monnaie
and the parapet of the Pont-Neuf. Morgan was therefore obliged to
retreat; but just as he reached the upper part of the Pont-Neuf, Coster
de Saint-Victor came rapidly down the Rue Guénégaud. The two young men
recognized each other, uttered a cry of joy, and carrying their men with
them by the mere force of example, returned with redoubled fury to that
Quai du Louvre which they had been forced to abandon shortly before.
Here the same butchery recommenced. Bonaparte had taken his measures
with admirable precaution, and the Louvre was impregnable. Artillery,
muskets and shells rained death from every side. Folly alone could have
continued such a struggle.
On the other hand, Cartaux, who saw the wavering of the Sectionists, who
were in reality sustained by the courage of two men alone, ordered his
men to fire for a last time, and then, forming in column, to advance at
double-quick.
The Sectionists were annihilated. More than half of them were lying on
the pavement. In the last rank, Morgan, with only a fragment of his
sword left in his hand, and Coster de Saint-Victor, who had bound up a
flesh wound in the thigh with his handkerchief, had recoiled like two
lions forced to retreat before their hunters.
By half-past six everything was over, every column broken and dispersed.
Two hours had sufficed to accomplish this tremendous defeat. Of the
fifty thousand Sectionists who had taken part in the fight, scarcely a
thousand were left, and they were scattered broadcast--some in the
church of Saint-Roch, some in the Palais-Égalité, others behind the
barricade in the Rue de la Loi, and others at the windows of the houses.
As night was coming on, and Bonaparte wished to save the innocent from
suffering with the guilty, he ordered his men to pursue the Sectionists
as far as the Pont du Change and the boulevards, but with guns loaded
with powder only. Their terror was so great that the noise alone would
be sufficient to make them flee.
At seven in the evening Barras and Bonaparte entered the hall of the
Convention together in the midst of the deputies, who laid down their
weapons to clasp their hands.
"Conscript fathers," said Barras, "your enemies are no longer! You are
free and the country is saved!"
Cries of "Long live Barras!" echoed on all sides. But he shook his head,
and, commanding silence, continued: "The victory is not mine, citizen
representatives. It is due to the prompt and skilful arrangements of my
young colleague, Bonaparte."
And as the shouts of gratitude continued, gathering in vehemence because
their terror had been so great, a ray of the setting sun shone across
the vaulted ceiling, framing the calm, bronze head of the young victor
in an aureole of purple and gold.
"Do you see?" said Chénier to Tallien, regarding the shaft of light as
an omen. "If that were Brutus!"
That same evening Morgan, safe and sound by a miracle, passed the
barrier without being stopped, and took the road to Besançon. Coster de
Saint-Victor, thinking that nowhere could he be better concealed than in
the house of Barras's mistress, sought shelter of the beautiful Aurélie
de Saint-Amour.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE SWORD OF THE VICOMTE DE BEAUHARNAIS
After events like these, when cannon have thundered in the public
squares and blood has run in the streets of the capital, society is
always thrown into a turmoil from which it takes a long time to recover.
Although the 14th Vendémiaire had sufficed to remove the most noticeable
traces of the combat as well as the corpses, the people continued for a
long time to discuss that terrible day, which had resulted in restoring
to the Convention threatened with destruction--that is to say, to the
Revolution and its authors--the power which they needed to establish
those institutions, fear of which had produced the event which we have
just related.
The Convention understood so thoroughly on the morning of the 14th that
its power was fully restored, that it did not trouble itself as to what
had become of the Sectionaries, who had disappeared without leaving any
trace of their passage other than the blood they had shed, and which had
disappeared during the following day, if not from the memories of the
citizens, at least from the pavement of the streets.
They contented themselves with dismissing the staff of the National
Guard, disbanding the chasseurs and grenadiers, who were almost all
young men, placing the National Guard under the orders of Barras, or
rather his young colleague, Bonaparte, to whom the former had abandoned
almost all the active part of the work. They also commanded the
disarming of the Section Le Peletier, and the Section Théâtre Français,
and finally formed three commissions to try the leading members of the
Sectionists, who had almost entirely disappeared.
Anecdotes of the day were related for some time--this day which was
destined to leave so lasting and bloody an impression upon the minds of
Parisians. The magnificent words which had fallen from the lips of the
wounded, or rather from the wounds themselves, on that day of supreme
patriotism, were repeated and extolled. They told how the wounded, who
had been carried to the Convention in the Salle des Victoires, which had
been transformed into a hospital, had been cared for by the gentle hands
of the wives and daughters of the members of the Convention, who assumed
the rôle of Sisters of Charity.
They praised Barras for choosing his second with such unerring judgment
at the first glance, and that second, who, unknown to them on the
previous evening, had burst upon them like a god from the midst of
thunder and lightning.
Descending from this brilliant pedestal, Bonaparte remained general of
the interior; and to be within reach of the staff, who had their
headquarters on the Boulevard des Capucines, in what had formerly been
the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, he took two rooms in the Hôtel de la
Concorde, Rue Neuve-des-Capucines.
A young man was introduced into the room which he used for a study,
under the name of Eugene de Beauharnais.
Although he was already besieged by petitioners, Bonaparte had not yet
reached the point of drawing a sharp line as to whom he would or would
not receive. Besides, the name of Beauharnais awakened only pleasing
memories. He therefore gave orders that the young man was to be
admitted.
For those of our readers who have already seen him at Strasbourg some
three years earlier, it will suffice to say that he was a handsome young
man of sixteen or seventeen years of age.
He had large eyes, thick black hair, red lips, white teeth, and
aristocratic hands and feet--a mark of distinction which the general
immediately noticed--and apart from the embarrassment inseparable from a
first interview, he had that attractive modesty which is so becoming in
youth, above all when its possessor appears as a supplicant.
From the time he entered the room Bonaparte watched him attentively,
which did not tend to lessen Eugene's timidity.
But suddenly shaking the feeling off as if it were unworthy of him, he
raised his head, and, drawing himself up, said: "After all, I do not see
why I should hesitate to proffer a request which is both pious and
loyal."
"I am listening," said Bonaparte.
"I am the son of the Vicomte de Beauharnais."
"Of the citizen-general," corrected Bonaparte gently.
"Of the citizen-general, if you prefer," said the young man, "and if you
insist upon Republican forms."
"I insist upon nothing," replied Bonaparte, "save that which is clear
and concise."
"Well," resumed the young man, "I come to ask at your hands,
citizen-general, the sword of my father, Alexandre de Beauharnais, who
was a general like yourself. I am sixteen years old, and my military
education is almost completed. It is for me to serve my country now. I
hope some day to wear at my side the sword which my father wore. That is
why I have come to ask you for it."
Bonaparte, who liked clear, precise replies, was much prepossessed by
this firm, intelligent language.
"If I should ask you for more information concerning yourself and your
family, citizen," asked Bonaparte, "would you attribute the request to
curiosity or to the interest with which you have inspired me?"
"I should prefer to think that the report of our misfortunes had reached
your ears," replied the young man, "and that it is to that I owe the
kindness with which you have received me."
"Was not your mother a prisoner also?" asked Bonaparte.
"Yes, and she was saved almost by a miracle. We owe her life to
citizeness Tallien and to citizen Barras."
Bonaparte reflected a moment. "How does your father's sword happen to be
in my hands?"
"I do not say that it is in your hands, but you can have it restored to
me, though. The Convention ordered the disarming of the Section Le
Peletier. We are living in our old house in the Rue Neuve-des-Mathurins,
which the general had restored to us. Some men came to my mother and
asked for all the weapons in the house. My mother gave orders that they
should take a double-barrelled hunting gun of mine, a single-barrelled
rifle which I bought at Strasbourg, and finally my father's sword. I
regretted neither the double-barrelled gun nor the rifle, though I took
pride in the memories which they recalled. But I regretted, and I
confess still regret, that sword which fought so gloriously in America
and France."
"If you were to see the weapons which formerly belonged to you," said
Bonaparte, "you would probably recognize them."
"Beyond doubt," replied Eugene.
Bonaparte rang and a sub-officer entered.
"Accompany citizen Beauharnais to the rooms where they have put the arms
belonging to the Sections," said Bonaparte. "You will allow him to take
those which he will point out to you."
And he held out his hand to the young man, the hand which was to lift
him so high. Ignorant of the future, Eugene darted toward it and kissed
it gratefully.
"Ah, citizen!" said he, "my mother and sister shall know how good you
have been to me, and, believe me, they will appreciate it as much as I
do."
Just then the door opened and Barras entered without being announced.
"Ah!" said he, "here I am on ground with which I am doubly familiar!"
"I have already told citizen Bonaparte how much we owe you," replied
Eugene, "and I am happy to repeat before you, that without your
protection the widow and children of General Beauharnais would probably
have died of hunger."
"Died of hunger!" said Bonaparte, laughing. "That is a death which only
those officers whom Aubry has placed on the retired list need fear."
"I was indeed wrong," said Eugene. "For while my mother was in prison, I
worked with a carpenter where I earned my daily bread, and my sister was
with a seamstress who supported her out of charity."
"Well," said Barras, "the bad days are over and the good ones have
returned. What has brought you here, my young friend?"
Eugene told Barras the reason of his visit.
"Why did you not come to me," asked Barras, "instead of disturbing my
colleague?"
"Because I wished to meet citizen-general Bonaparte," replied Eugene.
"It seemed to me that it would be a good omen if he returned me my
father's sword."
And, bowing to the two generals, he went out with the officer, much less
embarrassed than when he had come.
CHAPTER XXV
THE MAP OF MARENGO
The two generals were left alone. Both had followed the young man with
their eyes, each one inspired with different thoughts, until the door
had closed upon him.
"That boy has a heart of gold," said Barras. "Just think, when he was
only thirteen years and a half old--I did not know him then--he went to
Strasbourg alone in the hope of finding some papers there which would
justify his father before the revolutionary tribunal. But the
revolutionary tribunal was in a hurry. It cut off the father's head
while it was waiting for the papers the son was collecting. It was time
anyway for Eugene to return, for had it not been for Saint-Just, whom he
met there, I do not know what might have happened to Eugene. He attacked
Tétrell, one of the leaders, who was twice as big as he, in the midst of
a play at the theatre. If the people, who had seen him during the day
when he was fighting against the Prussians, had not taken his part
boldly, the poor boy would have been badly singed."
"I suppose," said Bonaparte, always precise, "that you did not put
yourself out to come here for the purpose of discussing this young man,
since you did not know that he had come to see me."
"No," said Barras, "I came to make you a present."
"Me?"
"Yes, you," said Barras. And going to the door of the ante-chamber, he
opened it and made a sign. Two men entered. They were carrying an
immense piece of rolled canvas on their shoulders as two carpenters
would carry a beam.
"Goodness! what is that?" asked Bonaparte.
"You have often spoken to me of your desire to make a campaign in Italy,
general."
"You mean," interrupted Bonaparte, "of the necessity which will some day
arise for France to decide the Austrian question."
"Well, for some time Carnot, who is of your opinion, has been occupied
in making the most complete map of Italy which exists in the world. I
asked for it at the Ministry of War, and, although they were inclined to
refuse, they finally gave it to me, and I give it to you."
Bonaparte seized Barras's hand, and said: "This is indeed a present,
especially if it is given to me as the man who is to make use of it.
Open it," he continued, addressing the men who were carrying it.
They knelt down and untied the cords, but when they tried to unroll it
they found that the room was not half large enough to hold it.
"Good!" exclaimed Bonaparte; "here I am forced to build a house to hold
your present."
"Oh!" replied Barras, "when the time comes for you to use it, you may be
living in a house which is large enough for you to hang it between two
windows. In the meantime look at the part which is unrolled. Not a hill,
not a brook is wanting."
The porters opened the map as far as the space permitted. The portion
which they uncovered extended across the Gulf of Genoa, from Ajaccio to
Savona.
"By the way," said Bonaparte, "is that not where Schérer, Masséna, and
Kellermann are--here at Cervoni?"
"Yes," replied Barras, "we received word to that effect only this
evening. How could I have forgotten to tell you! Augereau has won a
great victory at Loano. Masséna and Joubert, whom Kellermann kept in his
army despite the order of their dismissal which the Committee of Public
Safety forwarded him, displayed magnificent courage."
"It is not there, it is not there," murmured Bonaparte. "What do blows
aimed at the limbs amount to? Nothing! They should aim at the heart.
Milan, Mantua, Verona, those are the places to strike. Ah! if ever--'"
"What?" asked Barras.
"Nothing," replied Bonaparte. Then, turning brusquely to Barras, he
asked: "Are you sure to be appointed one of the five directors?"
"Yesterday," replied Barras, lowering his voice, "the Conventionals met
to decide upon the members of the Directory. They argued for some time,
and the names which successfully passed the first test, are: Mine, then
Rewbell, Sièyes third, then La Reveillière-Lepaux, and Letourneur; but
one of the five will certainly not accept."
"Who is the ambitious one?"
"Sièyes."
"Is there any talk of the man who will replace him?"
"In all probability it will be Carnot."
"You will lose nothing by that. But why not introduce some name like
Pichegru, Kléber, Hoche or Moreau, among all those names of civilians?"
"They were afraid of giving the military too much power."
Bonaparte began to laugh.
"Nonsense!" he said. "When Cæsar took Rome he was neither tribune nor
consul; he had just returned from Gaul, where he had won eighty battles
and subdued three hundred tribes. That is the way dictators have. But
none of the men we have just mentioned is built on the plan of a Cæsar.
If the five men you have named are chosen you will go on well enough.
You have popularity, talent for the initiative, and activity; you will
naturally be the leading man of the Directory. Rewbell and Letourneur
are men who will do the work, while you represent the people. La
Reveillière-Lepaux is wise and honest and will furnish the morality for
you all. As for Carnot, I do not quite know what part of the work you
will assign to him."
"He will continue to make plans and to lay off victories on paper," said
Barras.
"Let him make as many plans as he pleases. But if ever I have any
command of importance, do not take the trouble to send them to me."
"Why not?"
"Because battles are not won with a map, a pair of compasses, and red,
blue or green-headed pins. It needs instinct, an unerring glance,
genius. I should like to know if Hannibal had plans of the battles of
Trebbia, of Lake Trassymene, and of Cannes sent him from Carthage. I
snap my fingers at your plans! Do you know what you ought to do? You
ought to give me the details which you have received concerning the
battle of Loano; and, since this map is unrolled at that very place, I
would be interested in following the movements of our troops and the
Austrians."
Barras drew from his pocket a note written with the laconism of a
telegraphic despatch and handed it to Bonaparte.
"Patience," said he; "you have the map, and the command will follow,
perhaps."
Bonaparte read the despatch eagerly.
"Good!" said he. "Loano is the key to Genoa, and Genoa is the magazine
of Italy." Then, continuing to read the despatch, he said: "Masséna,
Kellermann, Joubert, what men! and what could not a man do with them! He
who could bring them together and make the most of their diverse
qualities would be the veritable Olympian Jove with the thunderbolt in
his hand!"
Then he murmured the names of Hoche, Kléber and Moreau, and, with a pair
of compasses in his hand, he stretched himself out upon the great map,
of which only one corner was uncovered. There he began to study the
marches and counter-marches which had led up to the famous battle of
Loano. When Barras took his departure, Bonaparte scarcely noticed it, so
absorbed was he in his strategic combinations.
"It cannot have been Schérer," he said, "who devised and executed this
movement. Neither can it have been Carnot; there is too great an element
of the unexpected about it. It was doubtless Masséna."
He had been lying upon this map, which was never to leave him, for about
half an hour, when the door opened and a voice announced: "The
citizeness Beauharnais."
Bonaparte, in his abstraction, thought he heard the words, "The citizen
Beauharnais," and, imagining that it was the young man whom he had
already seen who had returned to thank him for the favor which he had
just granted him, he exclaimed: "Let him come in, let him come in!"
As he spoke, there appeared at the door, not only the young man whom he
had already seen, but also a charming woman of about twenty-seven or eight
years of age. He half rose in his astonishment, and it was thus, with one
knee on the ground, that Bonaparte first saw Marie-Rose-Josephine Tascher
de la Pagerie, the widow of Beauharnais.
CHAPTER XXVI
MARIE-ROSE-JOSEPHINE TASCHER DE LA PAGERIE, VICOMTESSE BEAUHARNAIS
Bonaparte paused as if smitten with admiration. Madame de Beauharnais,
at the time of which we are writing, was, as we have said, about
twenty-seven years of age, of indisputable beauty, with a charming grace
of manner, exhaling from her whole person that subtle fascination which
resembles the perfume which Venus gave to her chosen ones to inspire
love.
Her hair and eyes were black, her nose was straight, her mouth a smiling
curve; the oval outline of her face was irreproachable. Her neck was set
gracefully upon her shoulders, her figure was flexible and undulating,
her arm was perfectly shaped, and her hand beautiful beyond comparison.
Nothing could have been more attractive than her Creole accent, of which
she had retained only sufficient trace to betray her tropical birth.
As her maiden name indicated, Madame de Beauharnais belonged to a noble
family. Born at Martinique, her education, like that of all Creoles, was
left entirely to herself; but rare qualities of mind and heart had made
of Mademoiselle Tascher de la Pagerie one of the most cultivated women
of any age. Her kind heart had taught her early in life that, although
they had wool on their heads, the negroes were more to be pitied than
other men, since, through the power and cupidity of the whites, they had
been torn from their own country and transferred to a land where they
suffered constantly, and not infrequently were killed by cruelty.
The thing that attracted her attention was the plight of these unhappy
men. All their family ties were sundered, but brothers in toil they
stood with bent backs, toiling beneath the rays of the sun, delving in a
soil which their blood and their sweat fertilized, but not for
themselves.
She asked herself in her youthful intelligence, why these men had been
placed beyond the pale of the law? Why they should vegetate, naked,
without shelter, without property, honor, liberty? and she herself found
the answer--that all this was to enrich avaricious masters, who, from
infancy, condemned this race to a life of hopeless and unending torture.
And young Josephine's pity had influenced her parents, at least, to make
an earthly paradise for the slaves.
They were still white and black; but almost to the extent of being free,
these blacks shared in all the advantages and some of the pleasures of
life. And, while nowhere in the island were the negroes sure of marrying
the women of their choice, marriages for love rewarded with affectionate
and faithful service more surely their young mistress Josephine than was
the case with any of the other slave owners.
She was about thirteen years old when a young officer of great merit and
noble birth arrived at Martinique, and became acquainted with her at her
Aunt Renaudin's house.
This was the Vicomte de Beauharnais.
The one possessed in his person everything calculated to please. She
possessed in heart everything destined to inspire love. They loved each
other therefore with all the ardor of two young people who have the
delight of realizing their dreams of kindred souls.
"I have chosen you," said Alexandre, pressing her hand tenderly.
"And I have found you," replied Josephine, holding up her forehead to
him to kiss.
Her Aunt Renaudin felt that it would be opposing the decrees of
Providence to forbid the loves of the two young people. Their relatives
were all in France. Their consent was necessary in order to consummate
this marriage to which Aunt Renaudin saw no obstacle. Obstacles were
raised, however, by Messieurs de Beauharnais, the father and uncle of
the young man. In an access of fraternal affection they had once
promised each other that their children should marry each other. He whom
the young Creole already regarded as her husband was therefore the
destined spouse of another, and that other his cousin.
Alexandre's father yielded first. When he saw the despair into which his
refusal had plunged the young people, he himself agreed to go to his
brother and tell him of the change which threatened to upset their
plans. But the latter was less kindly in disposition, and informed his
brother that while he might be willing to break his word, a thing
unworthy of a gentleman, he, the brother, would not acquiesce in any
such arrangement.
The vicomte's father came away in despair at having quarreled with his
brother, but he not only renewed his promise to consent, he actually did
consent.
It was then that the young Josephine, who was later to give the world an
example of such heroic self-sacrifice and absolute devotion, sounded the
prelude as it were to the great divorce scene. She insisted that the
vicomte should sacrifice his passion for her to the tranquillity and
welfare of his family.
She informed the vicomte that she wished to have an interview with his
uncle, and accompanied him to M. de Beauharnais's house. She bade him
enter a smaller room, adjacent to the one where M. de Beauharnais,
marvelling at her visit, had consented to receive her. M. de Beauharnais
rose, for he was a gentleman and was receiving a lady.
"Sir," said she, "you do not, and you cannot love me; but what do you
know of me that you should hate me? Whence comes this hatred which you
have declared for me, and what justifies it? Certainly not my affection
for the Vicomte de Beauharnais, for that is pure and legitimate, and is
returned by him. When we first revealed our love to each other we were
ignorant that social obligations and family interest, of which I knew
nothing, could make that confession of love a crime. Well, Monsieur de
Beauharnais, all our faults, and above all mine, hinge upon this
marriage which was planned by my aunt and agreed to by M. de
Beauharnais. Alexandre and I, more considerate of your wishes than of
our own happiness, have the terrible courage to sacrifice that happiness
to you. If he and I renounce this marriage, which prevents the one you
have at heart, will you still think your nephew unworthy of your
friendship and deem me deserving of your scorn?"
The Marquis de Beauharnais, amazed at what he had heard, studied
Mademoiselle Tascher de la Pagerie for some time in silence; but not
being able to credit the sincerity of her remarks, he retorted,
concealing with a veneer of politeness the insulting nature of his
remarks:
"Mademoiselle, I have heard of the beauty, the wit, and the noble
sentiments of Mademoiselle Tascher de la Pagerie, always in terms of the
highest praise; but this union which I feared, and in which my nephew is
so well justified, or at least excusable, I find all the more
blameworthy, because it is so invincible--because a rival, far from
overcoming its influence, only tended to increase it, and because it was
very difficult to foresee that it had the power to check its own
progress. This, mademoiselle, is the spectacle which you present
to-day--a spectacle so singular that, permit me to say, in order not to
suspect you of the most adroit egotism and the most profound and
well-acted dissimulation, I must have recourse to a third supposition,
which you will perhaps resent just because it is a natural one."
"What is that supposition, sir?" asked Mademoiselle de la Pagerie.
"That you have either ceased to love my nephew or that he no longer
loves you."
The vicomte, who had been listening with mingled grief and astonishment,
opened the door and rushed into the room.
"You are mistaken, sir," he said; "she still loves me and I love her
more than ever. But as she is an angel, she is sacrificing herself and
me to our families; but by misunderstanding and calumniating her you
have proved that you are not worthy of the sacrifice she was willing to
make. Come, Josephine, come. All that I can do, and it is my last
concession, is to leave the matter to my father to decide. What he
determines upon we will do."
They returned to the house, where Mademoiselle de la Pagerie related to
Monsieur de Beauharnais all that had just occurred, asking for his final
decision, and promising, on her own behalf and that of his son, to abide
by it.
But the count, with tears in his eyes, took the hands of the two young
people and said:
"Never were you more worthy of one another than when you renounced your
hopes of mutual happiness. You ask my final decision. It is that you
shall marry, and it is my earnest wish that you may be happy."
A week later Mademoiselle de la Pagerie became the Vicomtesse de
Beauharnais.
Nothing happened to disturb the happiness of the young people until the
Revolution began. The Vicomte de Beauharnais ranged himself among those
who favored its adoption; only he made the mistake of thinking that the
avalanche could be directed as it rushed on, carrying all before it. He
was swept in its wake to the scaffold.
CHAPTER XXVII
WHERE AN ANGEL STEPS A MIRACLE IS PERFORMED
On the evening preceding the day on which he was to die, the Vicomte de
Beauharnais wrote his wife the following letter. It was his final
farewell:
Night of the 6th and 7th Thermidor.
At the Conciergerie
Yet a few moments to give to love, to tears, and to regrets, and
then every thought shall be devoted to the glory of my destiny and
to the great dreams of immortality. When you receive this letter,
oh, my Josephine, your husband, in the words of this world, will
long have ceased to exist; but already in the bosom of his God, he
will have tasted of the joys of real life. You see therefore that
you must not weep for him. The wicked men, the senseless ones who
survive him, should have all your tears, for they do evil and
cannot repair it.
But do not let us blacken with their guilty image these last
moments. I would, on the contrary, brighten them by thinking that,
beloved by an adorable wife, the short day of our wedded life has
passed without the slightest cloud. Yes, our union has lasted but
a day, and that reflection draws a sigh from me. But how serene
and pure was that day which has vanished like a dream; and how
grateful ought I to be to that Providence which must have you in
its keeping! To-day that same Providence is taking me away before
my time, and that is another of its favors. Can a good man live
without grief, and almost remorse, when he sees the whole universe
in the clutches of the wicked? I should therefore be glad to be
taken away from them, were it not for the feeling that I am
leaving to their tender mercies lives which are so precious and
dear to me. If, however, the thoughts of the dying are trustworthy
presentiments, I feel in my heart that these butcheries are soon
to cease, and that the executioners will follow their victims to
the scaffold....
I resume these incoherent, almost illegible lines after being
interrupted by my keepers. I have just undergone a cruel formality
which, under other circumstances, I would rather have died than
endure. But why cavil at necessity? Reason teaches us to make the
best of it.
After they had cut off my hair, I bethought me of buying back a
part of it, in order to leave my dear wife and children
unequivocal proofs and tokens of my dying remembrance.... I feel
my heart breaking at this thought, and my paper is wet with tears.
Farewell, all that I love. Love me, speak of me, and never forget
that the glory of dying a victim of tyrants, and a martyr to the
cause of liberty, makes the scaffold illustrious!
Arrested in turn, as we have already mentioned, the vicomtesse wrote to
her children, just before she was to die, in the same strain. She ended
a long letter, which we have before us, with these words:
For my part, my children, as I am about to die, as did your father
before me, a victim to the mad excesses which he always opposed,
and which finally devoured him, I leave this life with no feeling
of hatred for his executioners and for my own, whom I despise.
Honor my memory even as you share my sentiments. I leave you for
an inheritance the glory of your father and your mother's name,
which some poor wretches have blessed--our love, our blessings,
and our regrets.
Madame de Beauharnais was finishing this letter when she heard shouts of
"Death to Robespierre! Long live Liberty!" in the courtyard. It was the
morning of the 10th Thermidor.
Three days later Madame de Beauharnais, thanks to the friendship of
Madame Tallien, was free; and a month later, through the influence of
Barras, such of her property as had not been sold was restored to her.
The house in the Rue Neuve-des-Mathurins, No. 11, was a part of this
property.
When her son, who had not told her of his intention, returned with his
father's sword in his hand, and told her of the circumstances attendant
upon its return, in the first burst of enthusiasm she left her house,
and, having only the boulevard to cross, hastened to thank the young
general, who was much astonished at her appearance.
Bonaparte held out his hand to the beautiful widow, more beautiful than
ever in the mourning robes which she had worn ever since her husband's
death. Then he made a sign to her to step over the map and take a seat
in that part of the room which was not encumbered by it.
Josephine replied that she had come on foot and that she did not dare to
put her dainty little shoe upon the map for fear of soiling it.
But Bonaparte insisted, and with the assistance of his hand, she sprang
over the Gulf of Genoa, the toe of her shoe making a mark where it
touched the little town of Voltri.
An armchair was standing on the other side. Josephine seated herself in
it, and Bonaparte, who had remained standing near her, partly from
respect and partly from admiration, put his knee on another chair and
leaned with his arms on the back.
Bonaparte was at first embarrassed. He was not accustomed to society,
and had rarely talked with women; but he knew that there are three
things to which their hearts are always alive--country, youth, and love.
He therefore talked to Madame de Beauharnais of Martinique, of her
relatives, and of her husband. An hour slipped by, which, clever
mathematician that he was, seemed no longer than a few minutes to him.
They spoke little of the present state of affairs, but Bonaparte noticed
that Madame de Beauharnais seemed to stand in close relations with all
those who were in power, or who seemed likely to attain to it, her
husband having been a prominent exponent of the reactionary opinions
which were then in high favor.
For her part, Madame de Beauharnais was too clear-sighted a woman not to
detect, for all his innate eccentricity, the powerful intellect of the
victor of the 13th Vendémiaire.
This complete and rapid success had made of Bonaparte the hero of the
day. He had often been mentioned in Madame de Beauharnais's presence;
and curiosity and enthusiasm had prompted her, as we have said, to pay
him this visit. She found that Barras's protégé was intellectually far
beyond what Barras had claimed for him, so that when her servant came to
tell her that Madame Tallien was waiting for her at her house, to go,
she knew where, as they had planned, she exclaimed: "But our appointment
was for five o'clock."
"And it is now six," said the lackey, bowing.
"Heavens!" said she in surprise; "what shall I say to her?"
"Tell her, madame," said Bonaparte, "that your conversation charmed me
so greatly that I prevailed upon you with my entreaties to give me
another quarter of an hour."
"That is bad advice," said Josephine; "for in that case I should have to
say what is not true in order to excuse myself."
"Let me see," said Bonaparte, anxious that she should prolong her visit
for a few moments, "was Madame Tallien contemplating another 9th
Thermidor? I thought the days of Robespierre were gone forever."
"If I were not ashamed to make the confession, I would tell you where we
are going."
"Tell me, madame. I shall be delighted to share a secret with you,
especially one which you are ashamed to confess."
"Are you superstitious?" asked Madame de Beauharnais.
"I am a Corsican, madame."
"Then you will not make fun of me. Yesterday we visited Madame Gohier,
and she told us that when she was passing through Lyons ten years or
more ago, she had had her fortune told by a young woman named Lenormand.
Among other predictions which this fortune-teller made her, she said
that she would love a man whom she could not marry, and would marry a
man whom she did not love, but that after this marriage she would become
very much attached to the man she had married. That has been precisely
what has happened. Now she has heard that this sibyl, named Lenormand,
is living in Paris in the Rue Tournon, No. 7. Madame Tallien and I were
curious to see her; and she agreed to come to my house, where we are to
disguise ourselves as grisettes. The appointment was, as I have said,
for half-past five; it is now a quarter past six. I must go and make my
excuses to Madame Tallien, change my dress, and, if she still wishes it,
go with her to Mademoiselle Lenormand's. I confess that we flatter
ourselves, thanks to our disguise, that we shall be able to mislead the
prophetess completely."
"You have no use for a companion, a locksmith, a blacksmith, or a
gunsmith, I suppose?" said Bonaparte.
"No, citizen," said Madame de Beauharnais, "I regret to say we have
not. I have already been indiscreet in telling you of our plan. It would
be far more so to permit you to accompany us."
"Your will be done, madame, on earth as it is in heaven," said
Bonaparte.