CHAPTER XXI
A Jacobin orator.
Tinville alone had remained silent during Lenoir's impassioned speech.It seemed to be his turn now to become surly. He sat picking his teeth,and staring moodily at the enthusiastic orator, who had so obviouslydiverted popular feeling in his own direction. And Tinville brookedpopularity only for himself.
"It is easy to talk now, Citizen--er--Lenoir. Is that your name? Well,you are a comparative stranger here, Citizen Lenoir, and have not yetproved to the Republic that you can do ought else but talk."
"If somebody did not talk, Citizen Tinville--is that your name?"rejoined Lenoir, with a sneer--"if somebody didn't talk, nothing wouldget done. You all sit here, and condemn the Citizen-Deputy Merlin forbeing a fool, and I must say I am with you there, but ..."
"_Pardi!_ tell us your 'but' citizen," said Tinville, for thecoal-heaver had paused, as if trying to collect his thoughts. He haddragged a wine barrel to collect his thoughts. He had dragged a winebarrel close to the trestle table, and now sat astride upon it, facingTinville and the group of Jacobins. The flickering tallow candle behindhim threw into bold silhouette his square, massive head, crowned withits Phrygian cap, and the great breadth of his shoulders, with theshabby knitted spencer and low, turned-down collar.
He had long, thin hands, which were covered with successive coats ofcoal dust, and with these he constantly made weird gestures, as if inthe act of gripping some live thing by the throat.
"We all know that the Deputy Deroulede is a traitor, eh?" he said,addressing the company in general.
"We do," came with uniform assent from all those present.
"Then let us put it to the vote. The Ayes mean death, the Noes freedom."
"Ay, ay!" came from every hoarse, parched throat; and twelve gaunt handwere lifted up demanding death for Citizen-Deputy Deroulede.
"The Ayes have it," said Lenoir quietly, "Now all we need do is todecide how best to carry out our purpose."
Merlin, very agreeably surprised to see public attention thus divertedfrom his own misdeeds, had gradually lost his surly attitude. He toodragged one of the wine barrels, which did duty for chairs, close to thetrestle table, and thus the members of the nameless Jacobin club made acompact group, picturesque in its weird horror, its uncompromising,flaunting ugliness.
"I suppose," said Tinville, who was loth to give up his position asleader of these extremists--"I suppose, Citizen Lenoir, that you are inposition to furnish me with proofs of the Citizen-Deputy's guilt?"
"If I furnish you with such proofs, Citizen Tinville," retorted theother, "will you, as Public Prosecutor, carry the indictment through?"
"It is my duty to publicly accuse those who are traitors to theRepublic."
"And you, Citizen Merlin," queried Lenoir, "will you help the Republicto the best of your ability to be rid of a traitor?"
"My services to the cause of our great Revolution are too well known-"began Merlin.
But Lenoir interrupted him with impatience.
"_Pardi!_but we'll have no rhetoric now, Citizen Merlin. We all knowthat you have blundered, and that the Republic cares little for those ofher sons who have failed, but whilst you are still Minister of Justicethe people of France have need of you--for bringing _other_ traitors tothe guillotine."
He spoke this last phrase slowly and significantly, lingering on theword "other," as if he wished its whole awesome meaning to penetratewell into Merlin's brain.
"What is your advice then, Citizen Lenoir?"
Apparently, by unanimous consent, the coalheaver, from some obscureprovince of France, had been tacitly acknowledged the leader of theband. Merlin, still in terror for himself, looked to him for advice;even Tinville was ready to be guided by him. All were at one in theirdesire to rid themselves of Deroulede, who by his clean living, hisaloofness from their own hideous orgies and deadly hates, seemed aliving reproach to them all; and they all felt that in Lenoir there mustexist some secret dislike of the popular Citizen-Deputy, which wouldgive him a clear insight of how best to bring about his downfall.
"What is your advice?" had been Merlin's query, and everyone therelistened eagerly for what was to come.
"We are all agreed," commenced Lenoir quietly, "that just at this momentit would be unwise to arraign the Citizen-Deputy without material proof.The mob of Paris worship him, and would turn against those who had triedto dethrone their idol. Now, Citizen Merlin failed to furnish us withproofs of Deroulede's guilt. For the moment he is a free man, and Iimagine a wise one; within two days he will have quitted this country,well knowing that, if he stayed long enough to see his popularity wane,he would also outstay his welcome on earth altogether."
"Ay! Ay!" said some of the men approvingly, whilst others laughedhoarsely at the weird jest.
"I propose, therefore," continued Lenoir after a slight pause, "that itshall be Citizen-Deputy Deroulede himself who shall furnish to thepeople of France proofs of his own treason against the Republic."
"But how? But how?" rapid, loud and excited queries greeted thisextraordinary suggestion from the provincial giant.
"By the simplest means imaginable," retorted Lenoir with imperturbablecalm. "Isn't there a good proverb which our grandmothers used to quote,that if you only give a man a sufficient length of rope, he is sure tohang himself? We'll give our aristocratic Citizen-Deputy plenty of rope,I'll warrant, if only our present Minister of Justice," he added,indicating Merlin, "will help us in the little comedy which I proposethat we should play."
"Yes! Yes! Go on!" said Merlin excitedly.
"The woman who denounced Deroulede--that is our trump card," continuedLenoir, now waxing enthusiastic with his own scheme and his owneloquence. "She denounced him. Ergo, he had been her lover, whom shewished to be rid of--why? Not, as Citizen Merlin supposed, because hehad discarded her. No, no; she had another lover--she has admitted that.She wished to be rid of Deroulede to make way for the other, because hewas too persistent--ergo, because he loved her."
"Well, and what does that prove?" queried Tinville with dry sarcasm.
"It proves that Deroulede, being in love with the woman, would do muchto save her from the guillotine."
"Of course."
"_Pardi!_ let him try, say I," rejoined Lenoir placidly. "Give him therope with which to hang himself."
"What does he mean?" asked one or two of the men, whose dull brains hadnot quite as yet grasped the full meaning of this monstrous scheme.
"You don't understand what I mean, citizens; you think I am mad, ordrunk, or a traitor like Deroulede? _Eh bien!_ give me your attentionfive minutes longer, and you shall see. Let me suppose that we havereached the moment when the woman--what is her name? Oh! ah! yes!Juliette Marny--stands in the Hall of Justice on her trial before theCommittee of Public Safety. Citizen Foucquier-Tinville, one of ourgreatest patriots, reads the indictment against her: the paperssurreptitiously burnt, the torn, mysterious letter-case found in herroom. If these are presumed, in the indictment, to be treasonablecorrespondence with the enemies of the Republic, condemnation follows atonce, then the guillotine. There is no defence, no respite. The Ministerof Justice, according to Article IX of the Law framed by himself, allowsno advocate to those directly accused of treason. But," continued thegiant, with slow and calm impressiveness, "in the case of ordinary,civil indictments, offences against public morality or matterspertaining to the penal code, the Minister of Justice allows the accusedto be publicly defended. Place Juliette Marny in the dock on atreasonable charge, she will be hustled out of the court in a fewminutes, amongst a batch of other traitors, dragged back to her ownprison, and executed in the early dawn, before Deroulede has had time toframe a plan for her safety or defence. If, then, he tries to moveheaven and earth to rescue the woman he loves, the mob of Parismay,--who knows?--take his part warmly. They are mad where Deroulede isconcerned; and we all know that two devoted lovers have ere now foundfavour with the people of France--a curious remnant of sentimentalism, Isuppose--and the popular Citizen-
Deputy knows better than anyone else onearth, how to play upon the sentimental feelings of the populace. Now,in the case of a penal offence, mark where the difference would be! Thewoman Juliette Marny, arraigned for wantonness, for an offence againstpublic morals; the burnt correspondence, admitted to be the letters of alover--her hatred for Deroulede suggesting the false denunciation. Thenthe Minister of Justice allows an advocate to defend her. She has nonein court; but think you Deroulede would not step forward, and bring allthe fervour of his eloquence to bear in favour of his mistress? Can youhear his impassioned speech on her behalf?--I can--the rope, I tell you,citizens, with which he'll hang himself. Will he admit in open courtthat the burnt correspondence was another lover's letters? No!--athousand times no!--and, in the face of his emphatic denial of theexistence of another lover for Juliette, it will be for our cleverPublic Prosecutor to bring him down to an admission that thecorrespondence was his, that it was treasonable, that she burnt them tosave him."
He paused, exhausted at last, mopping his forehead, then drinking largegulps of brandy to ease his parched throat.
A veritable chorus of enthusiasm greeted the end of his long peroration.The Machiavelian scheme, almost devilish in its cunning, in its subtleknowledge of human nature and of the heart-strings of a nobleorganisation like Deroulede's, commended itself to these patriots, whowere thirsting for the downfall of a superior enemy.
Even Tinville lost his attitude of dry sarcasm; his thin cheeks wereglowing with the lust of the fight.
Already for the past few months, the trials before the Committee ofPublic Safety had been dull, monotonous, uninteresting. Charlotte Cordayhad been a happy diversion, but otherwise it had been the case ofvarious deputies, who had held views that had become too moderate, or ofthe generals who had failed to subdue the towns or provinces of thesouth.
But now this trial on the morrow--the excitement of it all, the traplaid for Deroulede, the pleasure of seeing him take the first steptowards his own downfall. Everyone there was eager and enthusiastic forthe fray. Lenoir, having spoken at such length, had now become silent,but everyone else talked, and drank brandy, and hugged his own hate andlikely triumph.
For several hours, far into the night, the sitting was continued. Eachone of the score of members had some comment to make on Lenoir's speech,some suggestion to offer.
Lenoir himself was the first to break up this weird gathering of humanjackals, already exulting over their prey. He bad his companions a quietgood-night, then passed out into the dark street.
After he had gone there were a few seconds of complete silence in thedark and sordid room, where men's ugliest passions were holding absolutesway. The giant's heavy footsteps echoed along the ill-paved street, andgradually died away in the distance.
Then at last Foucquier-Tinville, the Public Prosecutor, spoke:
"And who is that man?" he asked, addressing the assembly of patriots.
Most of them did not know.
"A provincial from the north," said one of the men at last; "he has beenhere several times before now, and last year he was a fairly constantattendant. I believe he is a butcher by trade, and I fancy he comes fromCalais. He was originally brought here by Citizen Brogard, who is goodpatriot enough."
One by one the members of this bond of Fraternity began to file out ofthe Cheval Borgne. They nodded curt good-nights to each other, and thenwent to their respective abodes, which surely could not be dignifiedwith the name of home.
Tinville remained one of the last; he and Merlin seemed suddenly to haveburied the hatchet, which a few hours ago had threatened to destroy oneor the other of these whilom bosom friends.
Two or three of the most ardent of these ardent extremists had gatheredround the Public Prosecutor, and Merlin, the framer of the Law of theSuspect.
"What say you, citizens?" said Tinville at last quietly. "That manLenoir, meseems, is too eloquent--eh?"
"Dangerous," pronounced Merlin, whilst the others nodded approval.
"But his scheme is good," suggested one of the men.
"And we'll avail ourselves of it," assented Tinville, "but afterwards..."
He paused, and once more everyone nodded approval.
"Yes; he is dangerous. We'll leave him in peace to-morrow, butafterwards ..."
With a gentle hand Tinville caressed the tall double post, which stoodin the centre of the room, and which was shaped like the guillotine. Anevil look was on his face: the grin of a death-dealing monster, savageand envious. The others laughed in grim content. Merlin grunted a surlyapproval. He had no cause to love the provincial coal-heaver who hadraised a raucous voice to threaten him.
Then, nodding to one another, the last of the patriots, satisfied withthis night's work, passed out into the night.
The watchman was making his rounds, carrying his lantern, and shoutinghis customary cry:
"Inhabitants of Paris, sleep quietly. Everything is in order, everythingis at peace."