The Whites and the Blues (40 page)

"I demand," cried Che*nier, standing upon his seat, "I demand that General Menou be arrested, that he be tried on the spot, and that, if he be guilty, he be shot in the courtyard.''

Shouts of "Arrest General Menou!" redoubled. Che*-nier continued: "I 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 hun dred patriots invaded the hall, demanding arms. They were the veterans of the Eevolution—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 chateau that they were called upon to defend to-day; men covered with scars, the heroes of Yalmy and Jem-mapes, proscribed because their daring deeds were attached to obscure names, and because they had vanquished the Prussians without organized tactics, and beaten the Aus-trians without a knowledge of mathematics or even know ing how to spell. They all accused the aristocratic factions of having driven them out of the army. It was the reac tionary 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: 4 'Then we are free, since we are to die for our country!' 1

Just then an usher entered to announce a deputation from the Section Le Peletier.

"You see, 7 ' 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 compan ions 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 Conven-

tion 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 sacri fice 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

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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 dwell ing 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'Anglaa stretched out his hand:

"I have pledged your word as well as my own, citizens,' 1 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."

1 ' Then it is war I" 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 Yendemiaire 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 conse quently obtain more definite news of the Sections than was possible at the Convention.

CHAPTER XVI

THE SALON OF MADAME DE STAEL, 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 sup port, two by two, a heavy stone balcony. This was the Swedish embassy, and the celebrated Madame de Stael,

daughter of Monsieur de Necker, and wife of the Swedish ambassador, Baron de Stael-Holstein, resided there.

Madame de Stael 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 concern ing her. Born in 1766, Madame de Stael 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 am bassador 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 Eussia recalled the ambassador to Stockholm, and he was absent from Paris from the day of the queen's death to that of Kobespierre's. After the 9th Thermidor, M. de Stael returned to Paris, still as Swedish ambassador, and Madame de Stael, who could not live out of sight of "that gutter of a Eue 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 Emigre's with all her might, and so fre quently 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 Stael was in favor of a constitutional monarchy, that is to say, something between the Cordeliers and the Girondins

On tliis particular evening of the night of the 12th and the 13th Venddmiaire, when the Convention was in the greatest uproar, Madame de Stael'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 discov ered 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 Stael, either by reason of their wit or beauty, were left alone.

Every one ran to the new-comer, gathered from him what ever 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 Hotel de Suede; so on this particular evening there was, besides Madame de Stael, Madame de Kriidener and Madame Kecamier.

Madame de Kriidener was three years younger than Ma dame de Stael. She was a Courlandaise, born at .Riga, the daughter of a rich landowner, Baron de Witinghof. She married Baron de Kriidener at the age of fourteen, and accompanied him to Copenhagen and Venice, where he filled the role 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 ex tremely 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 melan-

choly, which was born of the North, and which made her look like a heroine of a Scandinavian saga, lent her a pecul iar 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 The'rese in Madame de Kriidener, 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 "Vale*rie, or the Letters of Grustave de Linard to Ernest de GL," was nothing more than the his tory 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 expres sion, 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 mo ments of lofty abstraction, and communion with supernatu ral beings, disconnected words escaped her, which never theless, like the Pythonesses of ancient times, had a mean ing of their own. In short, Madame de Kriidener was a forerunner of modern spiritualism. In our day she would have been called a "medium." The word not being in vented at that time, the world contented itself with call ing her inspired.

Madame Eecamier, the youngest of all the women of fashion of the day, was born at Lyons, in 1777, and was named Jeanne- Frangoise- Adelaide- Julie Bernard. She mar ried, in 1793, Jacques-Eose Eecamier, who was twenty-six years older than she. His fortune was derived from an im mense 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 Yirgil 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 super numerary 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 Ber nard became his wife, her biographer tells us that she had passed from childhood into the splendor of youth. A sup ple, 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."