CHAPTER II. WIDELY DIVERGENT AIMS
This was Armand S. Just's first visit to Paris since that memorable daywhen first he decided to sever his connection from the Republican party,of which he and his beautiful sister Marguerite had at one time beenamongst the most noble, most enthusiastic followers. Already a year anda half ago the excesses of the party had horrified him, and that waslong before they had degenerated into the sickening orgies which wereculminating to-day in wholesale massacres and bloody hecatombs ofinnocent victims.
With the death of Mirabeau the moderate Republicans, whose sole andentirely pure aim had been to free the people of France from theautocratic tyranny of the Bourbons, saw the power go from their cleanhands to the grimy ones of lustful demagogues, who knew no law savetheir own passions of bitter hatred against all classes that were not asself-seeking, as ferocious as themselves.
It was no longer a question of a fight for political and religiousliberty only, but one of class against class, man against man, andlet the weaker look to himself. The weaker had proved himself tobe, firstly, the man of property and substance, then the law-abidingcitizen, lastly the man of action who had obtained for the people thatvery same liberty of thought and of belief which soon became so terriblymisused.
Armand St. Just, one of the apostles of liberty, fraternity, andequality, soon found that the most savage excesses of tyranny were beingperpetrated in the name of those same ideals which he had worshipped.
His sister Marguerite, happily married in England, was the finaltemptation which caused him to quit the country the destinies of whichhe no longer could help to control. The spark of enthusiasm which heand the followers of Mirabeau had tried to kindle in the hearts of anoppressed people had turned to raging tongues of unquenchable flames.The taking of the Bastille had been the prelude to the massacres ofSeptember, and even the horror of these had since paled beside theholocausts of to-day.
Armand, saved from the swift vengeance of the revolutionaries by thedevotion of the Scarlet Pimpernel, crossed over to England and enrolledhimself under the banner of the heroic chief. But he had been unablehitherto to be an active member of the League. The chief was loath toallow him to run foolhardy risks. The St. Justs--both Marguerite andArmand--were still very well-known in Paris. Marguerite was not a womaneasily forgotten, and her marriage with an English "aristo" did notplease those republican circles who had looked upon her as their queen.Armand's secession from his party into the ranks of the emigres hadsingled him out for special reprisals, if and whenever he could be gothold of, and both brother and sister had an unusually bitter enemy intheir cousin Antoine St. Just--once an aspirant to Marguerite's hand,and now a servile adherent and imitator of Robespierre, whose ferociouscruelty he tried to emulate with a view to ingratiating himself with themost powerful man of the day.
Nothing would have pleased Antoine St. Just more than the opportunity ofshowing his zeal and his patriotism by denouncing his own kith and kinto the Tribunal of the Terror, and the Scarlet Pimpernel, whose ownslender fingers were held on the pulse of that reckless revolution, hadno wish to sacrifice Armand's life deliberately, or even to expose it tounnecessary dangers.
Thus it was that more than a year had gone by before Armand St. Just--anenthusiastic member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel--was ableto do aught for its service. He had chafed under the enforced restraintplaced upon him by the prudence of his chief, when, indeed, he waslonging to risk his life with the comrades whom he loved and beside theleader whom he revered.
At last, in the beginning of '94 he persuaded Blakeney to allow himto join the next expedition to France. What the principal aim of thatexpedition was the members of the League did not know as yet, but whatthey did know was that perils--graver even than hitherto--would attendthem on their way.
The circumstances had become very different of late. At first theimpenetrable mystery which had surrounded the personality of the chiefhad been a full measure of safety, but now one tiny corner of thatveil of mystery had been lifted by two rough pairs of hands at least;Chauvelin, ex-ambassador at the English Court, was no longer in anydoubt as to the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel, whilst Collotd'Herbois had seen him at Boulogne, and had there been effectuallyfoiled by him.
Four months had gone by since that day, and the Scarlet Pimpernelwas hardly ever out of France now; the massacres in Paris and in theprovinces had multiplied with appalling rapidity, the necessity for theselfless devotion of that small band of heroes had become daily, hourlymore pressing. They rallied round their chief with unbounded enthusiasm,and let it be admitted at once that the sporting instinct--inherent inthese English gentlemen--made them all the more keen, all the moreeager now that the dangers which beset their expeditions were increasedtenfold.
At a word from the beloved leader, these young men--the spoilt darlingsof society--would leave the gaieties, the pleasures, the luxuries ofLondon or of Bath, and, taking their lives in their hands, they placedthem, together with their fortunes, and even their good names, at theservice of the innocent and helpless victims of merciless tyranny. Themarried men--Ffoulkes, my Lord Hastings, Sir Jeremiah Wallescourt--leftwife and children at a call from the chief, at the cry of the wretched.Armand--unattached and enthusiastic--had the right to demand that heshould no longer be left behind.
He had only been away a little over fifteen months, and yet he foundParis a different city from the one he had left immediately after theterrible massacres of September. An air of grim loneliness seemed tohang over her despite the crowds that thronged her streets; the men whomhe was wont to meet in public places fifteen months ago--friends andpolitical allies--were no longer to be seen; strange faces surroundedhim on every side--sullen, glowering faces, all wearing a certain air ofhorrified surprise and of vague, terrified wonder, as if life hadbecome one awful puzzle, the answer to which must be found in the briefinterval between the swift passages of death.
Armand St. Just, having settled his few simple belongings in the squalidlodgings which had been assigned to him, had started out after dark towander somewhat aimlessly through the streets. Instinctively he seemedto be searching for a familiar face, some one who would come to him outof that merry past which he had spent with Marguerite in their prettyapartment in the Rue St. Honore.
For an hour he wandered thus and met no one whom he knew. At times itappeared to him as if he did recognise a face or figure that passed himswiftly by in the gloom, but even before he could fully make up his mindto that, the face or figure had already disappeared, gliding furtivelydown some narrow unlighted by-street, without turning to look to rightor left, as if dreading fuller recognition. Armand felt a total strangerin his own native city.
The terrible hours of the execution on the Place de la Revolutionwere fortunately over, the tumbrils no longer rattled along the unevenpavements, nor did the death-cry of the unfortunate victims resoundthrough the deserted streets. Armand was, on this first day of hisarrival, spared the sight of this degradation of the once lovely city;but her desolation, her general appearance of shamefaced indigence andof cruel aloofness struck a chill in the young man's heart.
It was no wonder, therefore, when anon he was wending his way slowlyback to his lodging he was accosted by a pleasant, cheerful voice, thathe responded to it with alacrity. The voice, of a smooth, oily timbre,as if the owner kept it well greased for purposes of amiable speech,was like an echo of the past, when jolly, irresponsible Baron de Batz,erst-while officer of the Guard in the service of the late King,and since then known to be the most inveterate conspirator for therestoration of the monarchy, used to amuse Marguerite by his vapid,senseless plans for the overthrow of the newly-risen power of thepeople.
Armand was quite glad to meet him, and when de Batz suggested that agood talk over old times would be vastly agreeable, the younger mangladly acceded. The two men, though certainly not mistrustful of oneanother, did not seem to care to reveal to each other the place wherethey lodged. De Batz at once proposed the avant-scene box of one of th
etheatres as being the safest place where old friends could talk withoutfear of spying eyes or ears.
"There is no place so safe or so private nowadays, believe me, my youngfriend," he said "I have tried every sort of nook and cranny in thisaccursed town, now riddled with spies, and I have come to the conclusionthat a small avant-scene box is the most perfect den of privacy thereis in the entire city. The voices of the actors on the stage and the humamong the audience in the house will effectually drown all individualconversation to every ear save the one for whom it is intended."
It is not difficult to persuade a young man who feels lonely andsomewhat forlorn in a large city to while away an evening in thecompanionship of a cheerful talker, and de Batz was essentially goodcompany. His vapourings had always been amusing, but Armand now gave himcredit for more seriousness of purpose; and though the chief had warnedhim against picking up acquaintances in Paris, the young man felt thatthat restriction would certainly not apply to a man like de Batz, whosehot partisanship of the Royalist cause and hare-brained schemes forits restoration must make him at one with the League of the ScarletPimpernel.
Armand accepted the other's cordial invitation. He, too, felt that hewould indeed be safer from observation in a crowded theatre than inthe streets. Among a closely packed throng bent on amusement thesombrely-clad figure of a young man, with the appearance of a student orof a journalist, would easily pass unperceived.
But somehow, after the first ten minutes spent in de Batz' companywithin the gloomy shelter of the small avant-scene box, Armand alreadyrepented of the impulse which had prompted him to come to the theatreto-night, and to renew acquaintanceship with the ex-officer of the lateKing's Guard. Though he knew de Batz to be an ardent Royalist, and evenan active adherent of the monarchy, he was soon conscious of a vaguesense of mistrust of this pompous, self-complacent individual, whoseevery utterance breathed selfish aims rather than devotion to a forlorncause.
Therefore, when the curtain rose at last on the first act of Moliere'switty comedy, St. Just turned deliberately towards the stage and triedto interest himself in the wordy quarrel between Philinte and Alceste.
But this attitude on the part of the younger man did not seem to suithis newly-found friend. It was clear that de Batz did not consider thetopic of conversation by any means exhausted, and that it had been morewith a view to a discussion like the present interrupted one that he hadinvited St. Just to come to the theatre with him to-night, ratherthan for the purpose of witnessing Mlle. Lange's debut in the part ofCelimene.
The presence of St. Just in Paris had as a matter of fact astonished deBatz not a little, and had set his intriguing brain busy on conjectures.It was in order to turn these conjectures into certainties that he haddesired private talk with the young man.
He waited silently now for a moment or two, his keen, small eyes restingwith evident anxiety on Armand's averted head, his fingers still beatingthe impatient tattoo upon the velvet-covered cushion of the box. Then atthe first movement of St. Just towards him he was ready in an instant tore-open the subject under discussion.
With a quick nod of his head he called his young friend's attention backto the men in the auditorium.
"Your good cousin Antoine St. Just is hand and glove with Robespierrenow," he said. "When you left Paris more than a year ago you couldafford to despise him as an empty-headed windbag; now, if you desire toremain in France, you will have to fear him as a power and a menace."
"Yes, I knew that he had taken to herding with the wolves," rejoinedArmand lightly. "At one time he was in love with my sister. I thank Godthat she never cared for him."
"They say that he herds with the wolves because of this disappointment,"said de Batz. "The whole pack is made up of men who have beendisappointed, and who have nothing more to lose. When all these wolveswill have devoured one another, then and then only can we hope for therestoration of the monarchy in France. And they will not turn on oneanother whilst prey for their greed lies ready to their jaws. Yourfriend the Scarlet Pimpernel should feed this bloody revolution of oursrather than starve it, if indeed he hates it as he seems to do."
His restless eyes peered with eager interrogation into those of theyounger man. He paused as if waiting for a reply; then, as St. Justremained silent, he reiterated slowly, almost in the tones of achallenge:
"If indeed he hates this bloodthirsty revolution of ours as he seems todo."
The reiteration implied a doubt. In a moment St. Just's loyalty was upin arms.
"The Scarlet Pimpernel," he said, "cares naught for your political aims.The work of mercy that he does, he does for justice and for humanity."
"And for sport," said de Batz with a sneer, "so I've been told."
"He is English," assented St. Just, "and as such will never own tosentiment. Whatever be the motive, look at the result!
"Yes! a few lives stolen from the guillotine."
"Women and children--innocent victims--would have perished but for hisdevotion."
"The more innocent they were, the more helpless, the more pitiable,the louder would their blood have cried for reprisals against the wildbeasts who sent them to their death."
St. Just made no reply. It was obviously useless to attempt to arguewith this man, whose political aims were as far apart from those of theScarlet Pimpernel as was the North Pole from the South.
"If any of you have influence over that hot-headed leader of yours,"continued de Batz, unabashed by the silence of his friend, "I wish toGod you would exert it now."
"In what way?" queried St. Just, smiling in spite of himself at thethought of his or any one else's control over Blakeney and his plans.
It was de Batz' turn to be silent. He paused for a moment or two, thenhe asked abruptly:
"Your Scarlet Pimpernel is in Paris now, is he not?"
"I cannot tell you," replied Armand.
"Bah! there is no necessity to fence with me, my friend. The moment Iset eyes on you this afternoon I knew that you had not come to Parisalone."
"You are mistaken, my good de Batz," rejoined the young man earnestly;"I came to Paris alone."
"Clever parrying, on my word--but wholly wasted on my unbelieving ears.Did I not note at once that you did not seem overpleased to-day when Iaccosted you?"
"Again you are mistaken. I was very pleased to meet you, for I had feltsingularly lonely all day, and was glad to shake a friend by the hand.What you took for displeasure was only surprise."
"Surprise? Ah, yes! I don't wonder that you were surprised to see mewalking unmolested and openly in the streets of Paris--whereas you hadheard of me as a dangerous conspirator, eh?--and as a man who has theentire police of his country at his heels--on whose head there is aprice--what?"
"I knew that you had made several noble efforts to rescue theunfortunate King and Queen from the hands of these brutes."
"All of which efforts were unsuccessful," assented de Batzimperturbably, "every one of them having been either betrayed by somed----d confederate or ferreted out by some astute spy eager for gain. Yes,my friend, I made several efforts to rescue King Louis and Queen MarieAntoinette from the scaffold, and every time I was foiled, and yet hereI am, you see, unscathed and free. I walk about the streets boldly, andtalk to my friends as I meet them."
"You are lucky," said St. Just, not without a tinge of sarcasm.
"I have been prudent," retorted de Batz. "I have taken the trouble tomake friends there where I thought I needed them most--the mammon ofunrighteousness, you know-what?"
And he laughed a broad, thick laugh of perfect self-satisfaction.
"Yes, I know," rejoined St. Just, with the tone of sarcasm still moreapparent in his voice now. "You have Austrian money at your disposal."
"Any amount," said the other complacently, "and a great deal of itsticks to the grimy fingers of these patriotic makers of revolutions.Thus do I ensure my own safety. I buy it with the Emperor's money, andthus am I able to work for the restoration of the monarchy in France."
Again
St. Just was silent. What could he say? Instinctively now, as thefleshy personality of the Gascon Royalist seemed to spread itself outand to fill the tiny box with his ambitious schemes and his far-reachingplans, Armand's thoughts flew back to that other plotter, the manwith the pure and simple aims, the man whose slender fingers had neverhandled alien gold, but were ever there ready stretched out to thehelpless and the weak, whilst his thoughts were only of the help that hemight give them, but never of his own safety.
De Batz, however, seemed blandly unconscious of any such disparagingthoughts in the mind of his young friend, for he continued quiteamiably, even though a note of anxiety seemed to make itself felt now inhis smooth voice:
"We advance slowly, but step by step, my good St. Just," he said. "Ihave not been able to save the monarchy in the person of the King or theQueen, but I may yet do it in the person of the Dauphin."
"The Dauphin," murmured St. Just involuntarily.
That involuntary murmur, scarcely audible, so soft was it, seemed insome way to satisfy de Batz, for the keenness of his gaze relaxed, andhis fat fingers ceased their nervous, intermittent tattoo on the ledgeof the box.
"Yes! the Dauphin," he said, nodding his head as if in answer to hisown thoughts, "or rather, let me say, the reigning King of France--LouisXVII, by the grace of God--the most precious life at present upon thewhole of this earth."
"You are right there, friend de Batz," assented Armand fervently,"the most precious life, as you say, and one that must be saved at allcosts."
"Yes," said de Batz calmly, "but not by your friend the ScarletPimpernel."
"Why not?"
Scarce were those two little words out of St. Just's mouth than herepented of them. He bit his lip, and with a dark frown upon his face heturned almost defiantly towards his friend.
But de Batz smiled with easy bonhomie.
"Ah, friend Armand," he said, "you were not cut out for diplomacy, noryet for intrigue. So then," he added more seriously, "that gallant hero,the Scarlet Pimpernel, has hopes of rescuing our young King from theclutches of Simon the cobbler and of the herd of hyenas on the watch forhis attenuated little corpse, eh?"
"I did not say that," retorted St. Just sullenly.
"No. But I say it. Nay! nay! do not blame yourself, my over-loyal youngfriend. Could I, or any one else, doubt for a moment that sooner orlater your romantic hero would turn his attention to the most patheticsight in the whole of Europe--the child-martyr in the Temple prison?The wonder were to me if the Scarlet Pimpernel ignored our little Kingaltogether for the sake of his subjects. No, no; do not think for amoment that you have betrayed your friend's secret to me. When I met youso luckily today I guessed at once that you were here under the bannerof the enigmatical little red flower, and, thus guessing, I even went astep further in my conjecture. The Scarlet Pimpernel is in Paris now inthe hope of rescuing Louis XVII from the Temple prison."
"If that is so, you must not only rejoice but should be able to help."
"And yet, my friend, I do neither the one now nor mean to do the otherin the future," said de Batz placidly. "I happen to be a Frenchman, yousee."
"What has that to do with such a question?"
"Everything; though you, Armand, despite that you are a Frenchman too,do not look through my spectacles. Louis XVII is King of France, my goodSt. Just; he must owe his freedom and his life to us Frenchmen, and tono one else."
"That is sheer madness, man," retorted Armand. "Would you have the childperish for the sake of your own selfish ideas?"
"You may call them selfish if you will; all patriotism is in a measureselfish. What does the rest of the world care if we are a republic or amonarchy, an oligarchy or hopeless anarchy? We work for ourselves and toplease ourselves, and I for one will not brook foreign interference."
"Yet you work with foreign money!"
"That is another matter. I cannot get money in France, so I get it whereI can; but I can arrange for the escape of Louis XVII is King of France,my good St. Just; he must of France should belong the honour and gloryof having saved our King."
For the third time now St. Just allowed the conversation to drop; he wasgazing wide-eyed, almost appalled at this impudent display of well-nighferocious selfishness and vanity. De Batz, smiling and complacent, wasleaning back in his chair, looking at his young friend with perfectcontentment expressed in every line of his pock-marked face and in thevery attitude of his well-fed body. It was easy enough now to understandthe remarkable immunity which this man was enjoying, despite the manyfoolhardy plots which he hatched, and which had up to now invariablycome to naught.
A regular braggart and empty windbag, he had taken but one good care,and that was of his own skin. Unlike other less fortunate Royalists ofFrance, he neither fought in the country nor braved dangers in town. Heplayed a safer game--crossed the frontier and constituted himself agentof Austria; he succeeded in gaining the Emperor's money for the good ofthe Royalist cause, and for his own most especial benefit.
Even a less astute man of the world than was Armand St. Just wouldeasily have guessed that de Batz' desire to be the only instrument inthe rescue of the poor little Dauphin from the Temple was not actuatedby patriotism, but solely by greed. Obviously there was a rich rewardwaiting for him in Vienna the day that he brought Louis XVII safely intoAustrian territory; that reward he would miss if a meddlesome Englishmaninterfered in this affair. Whether in this wrangle he risked the life ofthe child-King or not mattered to him not at all. It was de Batz who wasto get the reward, and whose welfare and prosperity mattered more thanthe most precious life in Europe.