Chapter IV: The Arrest

The two men measured each other from head to foot with rapid glances; the one with curiosity, the other with mistrust; and, as if the letter of introduction had not sufficed, Robespierre requested the Englishman to give his name. Vaughan complied, thinking it unadvisible to bandy words with such a personage. He it was, he explained, who on his arrival from London had written to Robespierre the day before, asking the favour of an interview. He had been in Paris two days, and was staying at the American Consulate, under the name of Martin, but his real name was Vaughan--Benjamin Vaughan, one of the Whig members of the Opposition in the House of Commons. He then unfolded to Robespierre the object of his mission, telling him how he had been sent by the illustrious Fox, the fierce opponent of Pitt's anti-republican policy...

"Yes, I know," Robespierre interposed. "I know Mr. Fox is the champion of democracy. He is a grand character, and richly gifted. I had his speeches translated, and read them with intense interest. I followed every word of his fine oratorical contest with Burke, and was deeply moved at the solemn rupture of their friendship of twenty years' standing! Ah! There is something grand, heroic, thus to sunder the closest tie in defence of one's principles. It is worthy of another age. They are Romans, your leaders! And what are Mr. Fox's wishes, may I ask?"

The Englishman was about to explain the principal points, when Robespierre again interrupted him by a gesture. Did he not hear a noise among the leaves, though Blount, the watch-dog, who prowled round about like a vigilant sentinel, had not barked? Robespierre begged Vaughan to continue, but was still on the _qui-vive_, listening with divided attention, nervous and uneasy, as if fearing to be surprised in this conference with a stranger.

And the interview was, to say the least, compromising. Fox and his influential friends of the Whig party proposed a secret agreement which would perhaps induce England and the Powers allied against France to put down their arms, thus giving satisfaction to the Royalists, without in any way interfering with the legitimate claims of the Revolutionists. Robespierre looked at the Englishman in surprise, still unable to grasp his meaning.

Vaughan then explained more concisely that the Whig party dreamt of establishing a Constitutional monarchy in France, on the same principles as in England, with the little son of Louis XVI., now a prisoner in the Temple, as King ...

"But think a moment!" interrupted Robespierre.

"With a Regency, of course, and an absolute guardianship," continued Vaughan.

"The French nation would never hear of it."

"But why not, since the Regency would be confided to you?"

Robespierre started back.

"What, to me! I, the Regent, the tutor of that boy? You are joking!"

The "Incorruptible" did not think fit to tell him that five years previously he had vainly solicited the position of tutor to the royal infant at Versailles. He now walked excitedly to and fro, asserting positively his refusal, in short, broken phrases; all the while on the alert for the slightest sound, and stopping now and then to ask, "Did you hear anything? I thought I heard steps? Are you there, Blount? Hoop la! Good dog! Keep a good watch!"

Carried away by his vanity, Robespierre laid his soul bare before the Englishman, who listened with the greatest curiosity and interest. "Restore Royalty? Ah! it was too ludicrous! Had he worked, then, to re-establish a kingdom for the son of the man he had sent to the scaffold? No! he had worked first for France, whom he had purged of her internal evils, of the whole corrupt and infamous crowd that had so long polluted her! And then for himself; oh no! not from motives of personal ambition, but because he felt himself called to regenerate his country, to breathe into her a new soul, cleansed in the pure waters of virtue and justice and equality.

"Regent, indeed? Fox could not mean it! Dictator, perhaps; Protector, as was Cromwell; Lord-Protector of his country, now degraded by centuries of tyranny and corruption. Ah! they would soon see her arise, pure and radiant, cleansed of all stain, regenerated by a baptism of blood! A few more heads, and then from the soil soaked with the blood of aristocrats, those butchers of the old regime, would spring the tree of liberty, the tree of life and justice, of joy and love, which would bring forth marvellous fruits, and to whose branches France would cling for support and nourishment, as to a mother's breast!"

Vaughan gazed at him in bewilderment. For through this ambition, this bloodthirsty hypocrisy, he descried the madman; and the Englishman said within himself that the man was absolutely dangerous. He only interrupted Robespierre as a matter of form, knowing well there was absolutely nothing in the way of common sense to be looked for in such a fanatic.

"So you refuse?" said Vaughan, in conclusion.

"Decidedly!"

"Then I have only to retire, with your permission."

But Robespierre turned round abruptly. Blount had started barking, and a man was crossing their path.

"Who is that?" said Robespierre, in a frightened voice.

"The man looks like a beggar," said Vaughan, his eyes bent on the approaching figure.

"Do you think so?" he answered, only half convinced. "A spy, perhaps? For I am surrounded with spies, monsieur! Ah, my life is awful! And if I were not working for the happiness of France ..."

A sound of voices was on the air, and the bark of a dog died away in the distance. It was Robespierre's two scouts driving off the beggar.

Released from suspense, Robespierre turned again to Vaughan.

"We must part company now," he said, "but not a word of our interview! I can count on your discretion, I am sure. If not, beware, for I could charge you with attempted bribery and corruption."

Vaughan assured him of his secrecy, telling him he was returning to London by Geneva, to allay suspicion. Seeing Robespierre's agitation, he felt it was hardly the moment to ask for the passports he required for Clarisse and her two young people. He ventured, however, but saw immediately by the expression of distrust on the face of his interlocutor that he was not mistaken. Robespierre refused bluntly, saying that Vaughan should use every precaution to avert discovery. The slightest imprudence was sufficient to betray him. It would be too noticeable to travel in numbers in times when every one was suspected and shadowed. And what would it be for four people? His friend had but to come to him a few days hence, and he would give her the passports, only too happy to be of service to a family in whom Monsieur Vaughan was interested.

The latter politely declined this offer, feigning indifference, and took leave of Robespierre, who kept him in sight until he disappeared round a bend in the road.

Left alone, Robespierre's suspicions were aroused. He began to ask himself who was the woman in whom the Englishman was so much interested. Vaughan had friends, then, in France, to whom no doubt he would describe their interview in the forest, or, at the very least, how he had spent the morning. Robespierre turned to call his men, who were close at hand.

"Quickly," he cried. "Set an agent on the track of the man who has just left, and keep me informed of his actions and movements until he leaves Paris.

"You are right, citizen, for the fellow looked d--d suspicious," said one of the men, Didier, who played the part of a _Trivtay l'Ermite_ to the Incorruptible.

"How is that?" interrupted Robespierre, starting.

Then Didier, who had just heard it from one of his agents on watch in the neighbourhood, told Robespierre of the interview between Clarisse and Vaughan at the place they were standing. He also described the hurried departure of Clarisse when Robespierre arrived, and how she had then flown, in all haste, to her house, a few steps off, and shut herself in.

This was too much for Robespierre, whose misgivings had been already awakened.

"What! a third person, a stranger, was cognizant of my interview with the Englishman? Let that woman be arrested instantly," he exclaimed.

"But there are two of them," said Didier, "mother and daughter."

"Then have them both arrested! Arrest the three of them, for there is also a son, I believe!"

"Yes, but he is not there at this moment," said Didier.

"Then arrest him when he returns!"

Didier gave the order to his companion, and returned to Robespierre.

"And where must they be taken?" he asked. "To what prison?"

"Where you like! Only see that they are arrested immediately. Now be quiet ... here come our friends!"

The tinkling of a bell was heard, and the crack of a whip. Then gay voices and bursts of laughter and merriment broke on the ear. A man made his appearance, who was lame and walked with the help of a stick, preceded by Blount, the dog gambolling round him in welcome. It was Duplay's nephew, Simon, the wooden-legged. While a volunteer in 1792, he had lost his left leg at the battle of Valmy, and now, disabled and pensioned off by the army commission, he acted as secretary to Robespierre. Simon advanced gaily, like a guide reaching his journey's end.

"Good morning, Maximilien! Have you been here long?"

Robespierre was about to equivocate and say that he had only just arrived, but he was spared the trouble of replying. Cries of "Good morning, Maximilien! Good morning, friend!" sounded across the hedge, a few steps from him. The whole Duplay family appeared in sight, all perched on a cart drawn by a lean, jaded beast. Old Duplay, in his shirt sleeves, his face all red and bathed in perspiration, led the horse by the bridle over the ruts of the road, while his son, Maurice, a boy of fifteen, ran about, his hair floating in the wind, waving the branch of a tree to beat away the flies. Behind the cart, pushing it forward by the wheels, was another man, neatly dressed. This was Lebas, Robespierre's colleague at the Convention and at the Committee of Public Safety, the husband of one of Duplay's daughters. In the cart were all the family: mother Duplay, seated on a stool, a solidly built woman, with arms bare to the elbow, holding the reins, and by her side, seated on a heap of provisions and crockery, were the three daughters, Elizabeth, the wife of Lebas; Victoire, the youngest, a fair-haired girl with beautiful eyes; and Eleonore, or Cornélie, for the Duplays had unearthed the name of a Roman matron to give her a character of antique grace in the sight of Robespierre, who, it was said, was going to marry her.

Dark and strong, with clear, almond-shaped eyes, her hair neatly plaited, Cornélie was dressed like her sisters, in light summer clothes, with a simplicity in which a practised eye could detect a grain of coquetry. The three sisters wore bonnets, caught up and fastened with tricolour ribbons and cockades, thus giving to the old cart, decorated with branches and palms gathered on the way, an air of gaiety and life.

It was a custom of the Duplays to come thus on fine days to join their friend, in some shady, secluded spot for a picnic on the grass, and enjoy his company for a few quiet hours of intimacy in the silence and coolness of the wood.

The cart now stopped.

Robespierre gallantly assisted the women to alight, amidst timid exclamations and flutters of fear and laughing protests of: "Oh! dear! How high! I shall never be able to get down!" followed by ripples of laughter and a whole babel of questions and chatter. "Have you slept well, _bon ami_? Ah! How well you look this morning!"

"The joy of seeing you," replied Robespierre.

They went into ecstasy over his slightest words. Oh, how good he was, how kind! And what a dream the place was, so joyous, so cool! Only he could have discovered such a spot!

Mother Duplay had already commenced unpacking the provisions--slices of sausage, shrimp paste, cold chicken, a melon, watercress, Brie cheese, and buns. She called her daughters to help her, whilst Duplay unharnessed the horse and Lebas conversed with Robespierre, giving him the latest news from Paris. Wooden-legged Simon looked around for a convenient spot to spread the cloth, and the boy Maurice occupied himself in coaxing Blount to stand on his hind legs and beg for sugar.

Suddenly all movement was suspended, and every ear strained to listen, for screams were heard coming from behind the clump of trees in the background.

"It sounds like women's voices," said Cornélie anxiously.

"You were right, they were women's voices," repeated Madame Lebas, who had advanced in the direction whence the sound came.

Robespierre hastened to reassure them.

"It is nothing!" he said calmly, and as every one looked at him questioning, he added indifferently, "They are only arresting two aristocrats!"

"Oh, is that all?" said the two women, reassured.

Duplay and Simon approached nearer the Incorruptible, scenting a story. Robespierre assumed an air of superior mystery. It was a good find.... He had tracked them down....

At this moment Didier appeared.

"Is everything right?" asked Robespierre.

"Everything is right, citizen," replied Didier.

Apparently satisfied, the Incorruptible turned round, and went towards Cornélie, who had stooped to gather a daisy. A few steps off, on the other trunk, Robespierre had laid the bouquet of blue periwinkles gathered in his morning walk through the forest. He now offered it to her.

"Oh, the pretty things!" she exclaimed, thanking him for the delicate attention.

"It was the flower Rousseau loved," Robespierre observed.

"You are as kind and good as he," the young girl replied, knowing she gave pleasure to the Incorruptible in thus comparing him to his master.

Robespierre, pleased and flattered, fastened the flowers in the young girl's dress. A gentle breeze murmured through the leaves, fanning them as it passed. It had come from afar, laden with a scent of cultivated blossoms, the heavy perfume of roses that grew in Clarisse's garden.

"Ah, life is sweet sometimes," sighed Cornélie.

And Robespierre, inhaling deep draughts of the perfumed air, assented with a smile.