Chapter XII: The Eve of the Battle

Robespierre could breathe again. He was once more in the open, the silent stars above him, the Seine flecked with white bars of reflected moonlight, flowing at his feet. But he dared not linger there. He turned quickly, and darted along close to the walls, fearing that for him, as once for Fouquier-Tinville, the water would take the crimson hue of blood. By slow degrees he became calmer. Refreshing gusts of cool night air fanned his fevered brow, and restored him to reality. He thought of Olivier again. If he were not in the Conciergerie, where could he be?

Entering the inner court of the Tuileries, at first he seemed undecided, and then, as if under a sudden impulse, went straight towards the Pavilion of Liberty. The Committee of Public Safety held its meetings there, in the very apartment once occupied by Louis XVI. This committee usually worked far into the night, and Robespierre was sure of finding some one. As he expected, he met Billaud-Varennes and Collot d'Herbois, who were crossing the vestibule of the ground floor at that moment. He accosted them angrily, for the two men, who had been hissed and hooted at the Jacobin Club, now seemed to exult, as though they held some secret threat over his head. The ironical smiles he fancied he saw playing round their lips aggravated his fury.

"So you have released the prisoner I sent to La Force?" he cried.

"Quite true!" replied Billaud-Varennes, relishing Robespierre's discomfiture as a set-off against the Jacobins' hooting.

"For what reason?"

"To cross-examine him."

"Where is he?"

"That is for you to find out."

"I command you to send him back immediately to La Force!"

"We receive no orders from you!"

"Then it is to be war between us? You shall have it, scoundrels! war to the knife! And to-morrow too!" and turning away abruptly, he went towards the steps, and pushed the door open in a violent rage.

Billaud-Varennes and Collot d'Herbois retraced their steps to apprise their colleagues at the Convention of their stormy interview with Robespierre. But on the threshold of the Assembly-room Billaud stopped his companion.

"Wait a moment," he said, "let me cross-examine the young man first."

So saying, he went upstairs to the attics, where Olivier had been locked up ever since five o'clock under the charge of a gendarme, to whom Coulongeon, the Committee's agent, had confided him, with strict orders that the prisoner was to be kept entirely out of sight until the Committee had decided on his fate.

Coulongeon was one of the sharpest detectives of the Committee. It was he who, disguised as a beggar, had been the object of Blount's sudden barks in the forest of Montmorency, where he had witnessed the interview between Robespierre and Vaughan. Driven away by Robespierre's agents, he had gone immediately to the entrance of the forest, expecting vainly the Englishman's reappearance.

On his return to Paris the same evening he had reported his discovery at once to the Committee of Public Safety. Billaud-Varennes rubbed his hands gleefully. He was on the scent of a plot. An Englishman? That could be no other than Vaughan, Fox's agent, who was known to have been already two days in Paris. Ah! Robespierre had secret interviews with him, had he? A plot, of course! It was splendid! Nothing could be more opportune!

"Run quickly, and ascertain if the Englishman is still at the American Consulate, while we draw up the warrant of arrest!" was his immediate order.

But at the Consulate the detective was told that Vaughan had just left Paris. Suspecting a trick, he took other means to continue his inquiries, only to find after all that the Englishman had started for Geneva directly after leaving Montmorency.

The members of the Committee were greatly disappointed on learning that the plot must remain unravelled, for how could they prove the interview without witnesses? Coulongeon was the only one who had seen Robespierre speaking with Vaughan, but he was in the pay of the Committee, and no one would believe him. They rested their hopes on the probable return of the Englishman, but they waited to no purpose, and were finally obliged to abandon the attempt.

One evening, however, Coulongeon had brought the Committee an unlooked-for piece of news. Having had a message to take to the prison of La Bourbe, he had found himself in the Acacia courtyard among the prisoners just at their supper-hour. Two female prisoners had attracted his attention. It seemed to him as if it was not the first time he had seen them, and after searching his memory for a moment, he recognised them as the two women who were with Vaughan in the forest of Montmorency before Robespierre arrived on the scene. Yes, he remembered it all now! It was so! There was not the slightest doubt! The gaoler, when questioned, completely confirmed his suspicions. The women did come from Montmorency, where they had been arrested by Robespierre's orders. "Now we have two witnesses!" Billaud-Varennes cried in delight.

"Three!" the agent interjected. "For, now I come to think of it, there was a young man with them."

"He must be found also! Quick to Montmorency, and bring him back with you!"

At Montmorency, after two days of fruitless search, the detective discovered Clarisse's house in the forest. The gardener on being interrogated replied that he was completely ignorant of the whereabouts of Olivier, who had disappeared the very day his mother and his _fiancée_ were arrested.... Perhaps Leonard the locksmith could tell him. Questioned in his turn, Leonard replied evasively. Coulongeon then informed him who he was, and threatened him with the law, so that Leonard ended by owning that the young man had started the same night for Paris. He swore that was all he knew. Coulongeon, pretending to be quite satisfied, thanked him and went away. But returning soon after he adroitly questioned the neighbours on Leonard's connections and acquaintances. The agent learnt that when the locksmith went to Paris he took up his abode in furnished apartments in the Rue de Rocher, kept by a certain widow Beaugrand.

"Now I am on the right track," thought Coulongeon.

Once back in Paris the agent had little difficulty in making the good woman speak. Did the widow Beaugrand know the young man? Pardieu! She knew him too well! He was the daring insulter of Robespierre, the young madman arrested on the Fête of the Supreme Being who was now imprisoned at La Force.

The joy of the Committee knew no bounds, when they learnt the news on leaving the hall of the Convention on the 8th Thermidor.

Billaud-Varennes, as can be imagined, was also overjoyed.

"We will have the three prisoners out of gaol, at once, and keep them here at hand."

Two orders of release had been immediately drafted, one for the prison of La Bourbe, the other for La Force.

Coulongeon had gone first of all to La Force to fetch Olivier, whom he conducted straight to the Tuileries and locked in a little chamber above the Committee-room under charge of a gendarme. But at the prison of La Bourbe he was too late; the two women had been taken away by Lebas, under an order of release from Robespierre.

On his return the police-agent had sought Billaud-Varennes to apprise him of the result of his errand, but finding that he was away until after the meeting of the Jacobins, he left a sealed note for him with full particulars.

Billaud received this on his return from the Jacobins accompanied by Collot d'Herbois.

"Out of three witnesses, only one is left to us!" he exclaimed on reading it. "The most important one, however! We have the man himself who insulted the traitor! We must cross-examine him directly. It will be amusing."

Robespierre just then appeared on the scene and hastened the examination by his violent outburst.

Billaud-Varennes began to cross-examine Olivier in the little chamber above the Committee-room. The young man knew nothing of the plot. Robespierre might have had an interview with Vaughan in the forest, this was very possible, but he, Olivier, had left just after the Englishman's arrival.

"You spoke to him, I suppose?"

"To whom?"

"To Vaughan."

"Why, yes! I exchanged a few words with him."

"You knew him, then?"

"My mother knew him. He was an old friend of hers."

"She knew then what he came to Montmorency for?"

"Not in the least. It was quite a chance-meeting. He had lost his way, when they..."

"And you know absolutely nothing of what passed after your departure?"

"Nothing, except that my mother and my _fiancée_ were arrested by Robespierre's infamous orders."

Billaud-Varennes left the room greatly disappointed. He wondered if, after all, Olivier was telling the truth.

"However, the young man has the night to reflect over it," he said to himself, as he descended the stair. "I will question him again to-morrow after having conferred with the Committee, perhaps by that time he will have decided to speak! And yet I cannot but think he was sincere."

With this he re-entered the room where his colleagues were assembled. But such an extraordinary scene of animation presented itself when he opened the door that he forgot the object of his visit.

This Committee-room, like the others next to it, formed part of a suite of apartments recently belonging to the King. It offered a strange spectacle, with its mixture of elegance and vulgarity, which said more than words for the ravages of the Revolution.

Over the five doors, two of which opened on to a long corridor, the royal arms surmounted by a crown had been roughly erased. The walls and panels of the doors were covered with printed decrees of the Convention, and tricolour placards were pasted up everywhere. This array of Revolutionary literature struck the observer as at once ominous and pathetic, in the midst of all the grace and beauty of that white and gold reception-room, decorated in the purest Louis XV. style, with its daintily carved cornices and painted ceiling, where Nymphs and Cupids sported in the glowing spring-tide among flowers. The contrast was even more apparent in the furniture. Gilded armchairs covered with rare tapestry, now all torn, stood side by side with plain deal seats, some of which were very rickety. A sideboard laden with eatables and wine-bottles completed the installation of the Terror in the palace of the Tuileries.

Billaud-Varennes was still standing there on the threshold. Collot d'Herbois, surrounded by Barère, Carnot, Prieur, and Elie Lacoste, was violently addressing Saint-Just, Robespierre's friend, who was seated at the table, engaged in writing the speech he was to deliver before the Convention on the morrow. Saint-Just, calm and contemptuous, replied to their insults by a shrug of the shoulders. This disdain exasperated Collot d'Herbois beyond measure, and Saint-Just aggravated him still more by ironical inquiries about the Jacobins' meeting.

"You are nothing more than a traitor!" cried Collot; "it is our indictment you are drawing up there, I suppose?"

"Yes, traitor! threefold traitor!" exclaimed Elie Lacoste. "Traitor and perjurer, you form with Robespierre and Couthon a triumvirate of calumny, falsehood, and betrayal."

Saint-Just, without losing self-possession a moment, stopped in his writing, and coldly offered to read them his speech.

Barère disdainfully refused to listen.

"We fear neither you nor your accomplices! You are but a child, Couthon a miserable cripple, and as to Robespierre..."

At this moment an usher brought in a letter to Barère. He looked uneasy after he had read it, and signed to his colleagues to follow, leaving Saint-Just free to continue his work. In the lobby Barère told them it was a letter from Lecointre announcing the approaching attack upon the Committee by the troops of the Commune, and offering the battalion of his section for their defence.

"It is exactly as I told you!" cried Elie Lacoste. "The leaders of the Commune must be instantly arrested, and with them Robespierre and his two accomplices!"

"Commencing with Saint-Just and his speech," said Collot.

"Robespierre was here just now," observed Billaud-Varennes, who had followed his colleagues out of the room; "he wanted to know what we had done with the prisoner from La Force. We told him we had not to render account to him, whereupon he went away in a rage, crying out, 'You want war? War you shall have then!' We have been warned by the Incorruptible himself, you see!"

"Yes, but we shall crush him through his Englishman! We have witnesses enough now!"

"Nay, unhappily we have not!" replied Billaud.

"What! we have no witnesses?" exclaimed Barère in surprise. "What do you mean? ... Has not Coulongeon...?"

"Coulongeon arrived too late at La Bourbe Lebas had just taken them off, by Robespierre's orders--no one knows whither."

"Oh! the villain! he suspected something, then, and abducted them to suppress their evidence; but we have at any rate the young man from La Force."

"He is upstairs, but he knows nothing."

"He lies, he is a traitor!"

"No, he seemed quite sincere, and he execrates Robespierre; but I shall question him again to-morrow."

"And meanwhile we must resort to stratagem," remarked Barère.

They discussed and debated the question, and all came to the conclusion that Barère was right. Their safety lay in stratagem. After all, there was no immediate peril. Robespierre was not fond of violent measures, he would not break the bounds of the law unless driven to it. It was out of sheer vexation that he had thrown that challenge in Billaud-Varennes' face; and after all, since Saint-Just had again assured them of the Incorruptible's pure intentions, it would be perhaps prudent to dissemble and to disarm the triumvirate by simulating confidence.

On the whole the members of the Committee were undecided, hesitating between two alternatives, one as dangerous as the other. Either they must openly attack Robespierre and overthrow him, and thus add to the already unbounded power of the Committee, which would then more easily crush the Convention; or they must leave the power in Robespierre's hands, who, when once master, would lose no time in annihilating them.

The members returned to the Committee-room where Saint-Just was still writing. They spoke as if they had altered their mind on thinking things over. They regretted their hasty words, for after all the patriotism of Robespierre and his friends had stood a long test. They spoke of precautions to be taken in case of an unexpected attack, for warnings had reached them from every quarter. All this was discussed aloud before Saint-Just, ostensibly to show their complete confidence in him.

Saint-Just, to all appearance the dupe of their hypocrisy, assured them they were unnecessarily alarmed. If the Jacobins and the Commune had formed any projects against the Committee, he would have heard of it. There was certainly considerable excitement in the streets among the people whose anger had been aroused at the calumnies to which Robespierre had been subject. But the Incorruptible would soon calm them down. As far as he, Saint-Just, was concerned, he was ready to forget the somewhat hasty words which one of his colleagues had addressed to him in the heat of the moment.

Collot d'Herbois upon a sign from Barère feigned to regret his hasty speech, which was, of course, he said, the outcome of excitement. It was so easy in these times of anger and enmity to be carried away by the fever of the moment. The dissensions of the Committee were making them the laughing-stock of their enemies.

Saint-Just, cold and impassive as before, quietly assented, and meanwhile continued to draft his speech, and when he had finished put it in his pocket, and looked up at the clock. It was five in morning.

"At ten, the speech will be copied, and I shall read it to you before the sitting, so that there may be no unpleasantness," said Saint-Just, rising to go.

Taking his hat and stick, he moved off, the others, to all appearance reassured, pretending to do likewise; but Saint-Just had no sooner disappeared than they returned to the Committee-room. It was agreed to send for the three leaders suspected of assisting Robespierre in the insurrection: Hauriot, the Commander of the troops; Payan, the Commune agent; and Fleuriot-Lescot, Mayor of Paris. The ushers returned with the two last named, but Hauriot was not to be found. For the space of four hours they retained Payan and Fleuriot-Lescot, smoking, drinking, eating, talking, and discussing, in the sultry and oppressive heat which heralded the near approach of a storm. They thus held them in check for the time being, overwhelming them meanwhile with questions, to which they replied in terms that tended to calm the anxiety of the Committee.

During this time the Parisian populace, who had not slept either, had entered the Convention, the assembly-hall of which, situated also in the palace of the Tuileries, within ear-shot of the Committee, had been filling since five o'clock that morning, though the sitting was not to commence until noon.

Every moment messengers arrived at the Committee-room, ushers out of breath bringing news, messages, and reports in an endless succession, which increased as the hours advanced. Payan and Fleuriot-Lescot had just left, after completely reassuring the Committee. It was now half-past ten, and the sitting was opened. Saint-Just did not put in an appearance, but the thump of crutches was heard in the corridor, announcing the arrival of Couthon, the cripple.

"Where is Saint-Just?"

"He is coming!"

For one hour Couthon kept the Committee in suspense, entertaining them with Saint-Just's favourite theme, Robespierre's single-minded patriotism, but still no Saint-Just appeared. The Committee began to feel annoyed, and soon Carnot, who suspected treachery, spoke out boldly. It was nothing less, he said, than a preconcerted plan between Couthon, Saint-Just, and Robespierre.

Couthon protested.

"You do wrong to speak ill of the patriot Robespierre! You are basely calumniating a friend of your childhood!"

"If I am base, you are a traitor!" retorted Carnot, beside himself with rage.

But Couthon, anticipating a storm, took up his crutches and stumped off, protesting as he went. Sinister sounds now reached the Committee. They had been betrayed! Saint-Just was going to denounce them from the tribune! The document he had been drafting before them, there on that table, was nothing more or less than the indictment of the Committee! Barère had just received trustworthy information to that effect. Robespierre had drawn up a list of eighteen names of those destined for the scaffold. A deputy entered and asked for Billaud-Varennes. He was told that Billaud had just gone out, but would return shortly.

"Ah! Here is Fouché!" some one exclaimed.

It was in truth Fouché, the deputy, who now entered. He was beset with questions. Yes! they were not mistaken, he told them. Robespierre was now going to throw off the mask, and denounce some of his colleagues. "And I am sure he has not forgotten me," added Fouché, ironically.

He was immediately surrounded by eager questioners. The names? Did he know the names? they asked anxiously. Fouché did not know; but everybody was threatened, and each must look after himself; the sitting would soon begin.

All turned their eyes anxiously to the clock. It was not yet noon; they had still twelve minutes! Now another deputy came in, breathless with the news that Robespierre had just entered the Hall of the Convention, with his brother Augustin, Couthon, Saint-Just, Lebas, and all his followers. The galleries, crowded to excess, had received the Incorruptible with loud cheers.

"Hark, the rabble are applauding; he has hired his usual _claque_," said one.

"That's true," another answered. "Since five this morning the Robespierrists, male and female, have taken possession of the galleries, yelling, feasting, and drinking."

"They are already drunk."

"Well! Let us go and offer our heads to the drunkards!" exclaimed Fouché.

But just then a door on the right opened, and Billaud-Varennes entered. Every one paused.

"Here is Billaud at last."

Billaud was looking anxious, and wiping his brow, worn out with the heat, he asked for a glass of beer. They eagerly questioned him.

"Was it true, then? They would have to fight?"

"Yes! fight to the death. They ought to have listened to him. Robespierre had told him plainly enough that there would be war. And now that they could not prove the plot...."

"What plot?" asked Fouché.

"Ah, yes! It's true; you don't know...."

Billaud made a sign to shut the doors, as Robespierre had spies in all the corridors. The doors securely closed, Billaud-Varennes again told the story of the Englishman. Fouché listened with curiosity. Other members, Vadier, Amar, Voullaud, who had just entered, also followed Billaud's story with keen interest, while those who already knew of the plot, came and went, deep in discussion, waiting for Billaud to finish, to give their opinion.

Billaud-Varennes now produced the order of release for the two women, signed by Robespierre, and brought from the prison of La Bourbe by Coulongeon.

"There can be no doubt. We have in this quite enough to ruin him," said Fouché; "but what about that young man from La Force?"

"I questioned him again closely just now in the next room. He persists in his first statement, which appears to me quite genuine--as genuine as is his rage against Robespierre, whom he regrets, he says, not to have stabbed at the Fête of the Supreme Being."

"Ah! if he had! what a riddance!" was the cry with which one and all greeted Billaud's last words.

"True; but he has not done it," observed Fouché drily. "As to the plot, it has escaped our grasp."

"Not so," some one remarked; "his treason is evident."

A warm discussion ensued. The treachery was obvious to the Committee, but it would not be so in the eyes of the public. It must be proved. And where was the Englishman? Where were the women? To accuse Robespierre thus, without sufficient proof, was sheer folly. The only witness available, the agent Coulongeon, was in the pay of the Committee. Robespierre would make a speech on it, call it a concocted plan, and annihilate his accusers with an oratorical flourish.

"Nothing truer!" remarked another deputy.

"He has only to open his mouth and every one trembles."

"Very well; let us gag him," said Fouché. "It's the only means of putting an end to it all."

They looked at him, not quite catching his meaning. Fouché explained his idea. They had but to drown Robespierre's voice at the sitting by their clamour. They had but to howl, scream, vociferate; the people in the galleries would protest noisily, and their outcry would add to the tumult. Robespierre would strain his voice in vain to be heard above the uproar, and then fall back exhausted and vanquished.

"That's it," they cried unanimously.

Billaud also thought this an excellent idea, and at once began to arrange for letting all their friends know as soon as possible, for Robespierre must be prevented from uttering a single audible word. Every one approved. Just then a door opened.

"Be quick! Saint-Just is ascending the tribune!" called a voice.

"Very well. We may as well commence with him."

And they one and all made for the doors in an indescribable disorder.

"Now for it," cried Billaud, laying his glass down on the sideboard.

But meanwhile Fouché signed to Vadier, Amar, and Voullaud to remain. They looked at him in surprise. Fouché waited for the noise to subside, then assuring himself that no one could overhear him, he confided his fears to them. It was not everything to drown Robespierre's voice. Even arrested, condemned, and on the death-tumbril, his hands bound, Robespierre would still be dangerous; a sudden rush and riot could deliver him, and crush them all! Then lowering his voice, he continued--

"The young madman of whom Billaud spoke just now...."

"Well?"

"Where is he?"

Amar pointed to a door on the left.

"Let him come in!" said Fouché; "I will speak to him in the name of the Committee."

They did not yet quite grasp his meaning, but Voullaud went all the same and opened the door.

"Hush!" said Fouché, "here is the young man!"

Olivier entered, followed by a gendarme, who, on seeing Fouché and the other members, stopped on the threshold. Olivier looked at them indifferently, expecting to be again cross-examined about the Englishman. Fouché had taken his hat and put it on, as if going out.

"Young man, you were the first to charge the despot, whom we are about to fight, with his crimes! This is sufficient to recommend you to the indulgence of the Committee."

As Olivier advanced in astonishment, he continued--

"You may go if you like!"

Fouché turned to the gendarme--

"The citoyen is free!"

The gendarme retired.

Vadier now understood Fouché's idea. Taking up his hat also, he remarked--

"And if our enemy is victorious, take care not to fall again into his clutches!"

Olivier who was preparing to go, stopped suddenly. Unhappily, he said, he had not only himself to tremble for. His mother and _fiancée_ were in prison and Robespierre would revenge himself on them.

"Most probably!" replied Fouché.

"Then the Committee ought to release them also, and with even more reason!"

Fouché shrugged his shoulders regretfully.

It had been the intention of the Committee, but the two prisoners were beyond their reach.

"How?" asked Olivier anxiously.

Simply because they were no longer at the prison of La Bourbe.

Olivier gasped--

"Condemned?"

"Not yet! But Lebas had taken them away with an order from Robespierre."

Here Fouché, picking up the order left on the table by Billaud-Varennes, showed it to Olivier, who read it in horrified amazement.

"Where are they then," he cried.

"At the Conciergerie, where they would be judged within twenty-four hours."

"The wretch! the wretch!"

He implored them that they might be released. The Committee were all-powerful!--They, powerful, indeed? They looked at him pityingly. He believed that? What simplicity! How could they release the two women when they were on the point of being sacrificed themselves? They would have difficulty enough to save their own heads!

"To-morrow," continued Fouché, "we shall most likely be with your mother, at the foot of the scaffold."

Olivier looked at them in terror. Was it possible? Was there no one that could be found to kill this dangerous wild beast?

Fouché, who had consulted his colleagues in a rapid glance, now felt the moment ripe.

"Assassinate him, you mean?" he asked.

Olivier lost all self-control. Is a mad dog assassinated? He is killed, that's all! What did it matter if the one who did it were torn to pieces; he would have had his revenge, and would save further victims.

"Certainly," said Fouché, "and if Robespierre is victorious, it is the only chance of saving your mother."

"But don't rely on that!" Vadier remarked.

Amar went even further.

"Patriots like Brutus are not often found!" he said.

But Olivier cried out in his fury that only one was wanted, and then looked about for the door.

"Which is the way out?"

Vadier pointed to the exit.

"Thank you, citoyens! ... Adieu! au revoir!"

The four men silently watched him disappear, and then looked at each other.... Would he do it? It was not impossible!

"Meanwhile, let us go and howl!" suggested Fouché.

And they rushed into the Convention-room.