CHAPTER V. A RECEPTION AT MADAME ROLAND'S
If it be matter of wonderment that at such a time as we now speak ofDe Noe should have opened his heart thus freely to one he had nevermet before, the simple explanation lies in the fact that periods of"espionage" are precisely those when men make the rashest confederacies.Wearied and worn out, as it were, by everlasting chicanery and trick,they seize with avidity on the first occasion that presents itself torelieve the weight of an overburdened heart. To feel a sense of trustis sufficient to make them reveal their most secret feelings; and it wasthus that De Noe no sooner found himself alone with Gerald than he toldhim the whole story of his love.
Gerald not only read his motives aright, but saw also something ofthe man himself. He perceived in him a type of a class by no meansunfrequent at the time--royalists by birth and instinct, and yet sostripped of all the prestige of their once condition, and so destituteof hope, that they really lived on the contingency of each day, notknowing by what stratagem the morrow was to be met, nor to what straitsfuture fate might subject them. Besides this, he saw how the supportersof the 'cause' had gradually degenerated from the great names and noblesof France to men of ruined hopes and blasted fortunes, whose intrigueswere conceived in the lowest places, and carried on by the meanestassociates. The more he reflected on these things, the more was heconvinced that Mirabeau was right when he said the 'Revolution was afire that must burn out.'
'And how long will the flames last,' cried he to himself; 'they will notassuredly be extinguished in my time. The great convulsions of nationswill bear proportion to the vast materials they deal with. France willnot rally from this shock for half a century to come; and ere that Ishall have passed away.'
When doubt or despondency weighed upon his mind, all the craftyreasoning of Mirabeau and all the sensual teachings of Rousseaucame freshly to his memory. They told him of a world of conflict andstruggle, but also a world of voluptuous pleasure and abandonment. Theysneered at the ideal pretexts men called loyalty and fidelity, and theycounselled the enjoyment of the present as the only true philosophy.'Tell me you are sure of being alone to-morrow,' said Diderot, 'and Iwill listen to how you mean to spend it.' like evil spirits that lovethe night, these dark thoughts were sure to seek him in his hours ofgloomy depression.
There was, with all this, a sense of pique as he compared his ownposition with that which Marietta had already won for herself. 'Westarted together in the race, thought he, 'and see where she hasdistanced me! That poor friendless girl is already a social influenceand a power, while I am a mere hanger-on of men, who use me in dangersthat show how little they regard me. What rare abilities must shepossess! What a marvellous insight into the human heart and all itsvaried workings! How ingeniously, too, has she contrived to interweavewith her dramatic power the stranger and more mysterious workings of asupernatural influence! How far is she the dupe of her own deceptions?'This was a thought not easily solved, knowing her well as he did, andknowing how often she was the slave of her own passionate impulses. 'Iwill see her to-night with my own eyes, and mayhap be able to read heraright.'
The receptions of Madame Roland were among the 'events' of the day. Theywere the rendezvous of all that was most advanced and extravagant inrepublicanism. Thoroughly true-hearted and single-minded herself, shewas rapidly attracted to those men who declaimed against courts andcourtly vices, and sincerely believed that virtue only resided beneathlowly roofs and among narrow fortunes. Her sincere enthusiasm--thegenuine ardour of a character that had no duplicity in it--added toconsiderable personal charms, gave her a vast influence in the societywherein she moved. She was not strictly handsome, but her features wereof extreme delicacy, and capable of expression the most refined andcaptivating; but her voice was the spell which, it is said, never failedto fascinate those who heard it.
In the management of this marvellous instrument of captivation was,perhaps, the solitary evidence of anything like study or artifice abouther. She knew how to attune and modulate it to perfection; and eventhey who pronounced her conversational powers as inferior to Madamede Stael's, were ready to confess that the melody and softness of herutterance gave her an unquestionable advantage. Married to a man morethan double her age, she exercised a complete independence in all thearrangements of her household, inviting whom she pleased, bringingtogether in her salons ingredients the most dissimilar, andrepresentatives of classes the widest apart.
Gerald had more than once heard of these receptions, and was curiousto witness them; he wished, besides, to see some of the men whom thepopular will declared to be the great leaders of party, and whoselegislative ability was regarded as the hope of France.
'Do not flatter yourself that you are about to be struck by anyintellectual display,' whispered De Noe, as he led him up the stairs.'For the most part, you will hear nothing but violent tirades againstroyalty, and coarse abuse of a society of which the speaker knowsnothing.'
The salons, which were small, were crammed with company, so that forsome time Gerald had little other occupation than to scrutinise theappearance of the guests, and the strange extravagances of that costumewhich they had come to assume distinctively.
'Look yonder,' whispered De Noe, 'at the tall, dark man, like aSpaniard, with his long hair combed back and falling on his neck. Thatis Lanthenas, _l'ami de la maison_; he lives here. Were she any oneelse, people would call him her lover; but "La Manon," as they styleher, has no heart to bestow on such emotion; she is with her whole soulin politics, and only cares for humanity when counted by millions.'
'Who is the pert-looking, conceited fellow he is talking to?' askedGerald.
'That is Louvet, the great literary hero of the day. Seven editions ofan indecent novel, sold in as many weeks, have made him rich as well asfamous; and the author of _Faublas_ is now courted and sought after onall sides.'
As the crowd thickened, De Noe could but just tell the names of themore remarkable characters without time for more. There was Pelleport, amarquis by birth, but now a spy, and libelist of the lowest class,side by side with Condorcet, the optimist philosopher, and Brissot, thewildest enunciator of republicanism. Carsu, with a dozen penal sentencesover his head, was talking familiarly with old Monsieur Roland himself,a simple-hearted old egotist, vain, harmless, and conceited. Yonder,entertaining a group of ladies by the last scandals of the day, told asnone but himself could tell them, was Gaudet, a young lawyer from Lyons,his dress the exaggeration of all that constituted the republicanmode; while looking on, and with air at once rebuking and amused, stoodDumont, his staid features and simple attire the modest contrast to theother's finery.
'A young friend of mine, just come from Italy, Madame, said De Noe,suddenly perceiving Madame Roland's eyes fixed on Fitzgerald.
'And "of us"?' said she significantly.
'Assuredly, Madame, or I had not dared to present him,' said De Noe,bowing.
'You must not say so, sir. Do you know,' said she, addressing Gerald,'that it was only last week he brought a bishop here, Monseigneur deBlois.'
'Ah! but be just, Madame; he had been degraded for immorality,' broke inDe Noe, laughing.
'You should have shared his penalty, Monsieur De Noe,' said she, halfcoldly, and moved on.
'Come, Gerald, let me present you to some of my illustrious friends.Whom will you know? That choleric old lady there, a dismissed courtlady, and the sworn enemy of the queen; or her daughter, the prettywidow, playing trictrac with Fabre d'Eglantine? Or shall I introduce youto that dark-eyed beauty, whose foot you are not the first man that everadmired? She is, or was, La Comtesse de Ratignolles, but calls herselfJulie Servan on her books.
'Why don't you answer me? What are you thinking of? Ah, parbleu! I seewell enough. It is the Gabrielle; and the tall, pale man she leans uponis Talma. Is not that enough of homage, _mon cher_? See how they riseto let her pass. We have been courtiers in our day, Gerald, but did youever see a more queenly presence than that?'
It was truly, as De Noe described, like the pas
sage of royalty. Mariettaswept by, bowing slightly to either side, and by an easy gesture of herhand seeming half to decline, half accept, the honours that were paidher. Refusing with a sort of haughty indifference the seat prepared forher at the end of the room, she moved on toward a small boudoir, andwas lost to Gerald's view. Indeed, his attention was rapidly directedelsewhere, as a small, dark-eyed man in the centre of the room proceededto entertain the company with an account of Mirabeau's last moments. Itwas the Doctor Cabanis, who had tended his sickbed with such devotionalaffection, and whose real attachment had soothed the last sufferingsof his patient. If there was something in Gerald's estimation more thanquestionable in this exposure of all that might be deemed most sacredand private, the narrative was full of little details that interestedhim.
The dreadful mockery by which Mirabeau endeavoured to cheat death of histerrors, as, dressed, perfumed, and essenced, he lay upon his lastbed, all surrounded with flowers, was told with a thrilling minuteness.Through all the assumed calm, through all the acted philosophy,there crept out the agonising eagerness for life, that even _his_dissimulation could not smother. His incessant questioning as to thissymptom or that, whether it indicated good or evil; the intense anxietywith which he scrutinised the faces around his bed, to read the thoughtstheir words belied, were all related; and, strangely enough, assumed toimply that they were the last desires of a patriot who only longedfor life to serve his country. Of those who listened, many doubted thehonesty and good faith of his character; some thought him a royalist indisguise; some deemed him a lukewarm patriot; some even regarded him asso destitute of principle, that his professions were good for nothing;and yet amid all these disparaging estimates, they regarded thisdeathbed, where no consolations of religion were breathed, where nomurmur of prayer was heard, nor one supplication for mercy raised, asa glorious triumph! It was to _their_ eyes the dawning of thattranscendent brightness which was to succeed the long night ofpriestcraft and superstition; and however ready to cavil at hisdoctrines or dispute his theories, there was but one voice--to honour_him_ who with his last breath had defied the Church.
'_Ah, que c'est beau!' 'Ah que c'est magnifique!_' were the mutteringson every side. One only circumstance detracted in any way from theeffect of these revelations; it was, that he who made them momentarilygave vent to his feelings and shed tears. This homage to human frailtyjarred upon the classic instincts of the assembly. It was an ignobleweakness, unworthy of such a theme; and in a tone of stern rebuke, Fabred'Eglantine interrupted the speaker, and said--
'Your grief is unbecoming, sir; such sorrow insults the memory youmean to hallow! If you would learn how the death of Mirabeau should beaccepted, go yonder, and you will see.' He pointed as he spoke towardthe boudoir, and thither with a common impulse the crowd now moved.
A warning gesture from Talma, as he stood in the doorway, and withuplifted hand motioned silence, arrested their steps, and, awestruck bythe imposing attitude of one whose slightest gesture was eloquent, theyhalted. Mixed in the throng, Gerald could barely catch a glimpse of thescene beyond. He could, however, perceive that Marietta was lying in asort of trance; a crown of 'immortelles' that she had been weaving hadfallen from her hand, and lay at her feet; her hair, too, had burstits bands, and fell in large waving masses over her neck and arms; thefaintest trace of colour marked her cheeks, and sufficed to show thatshe had not fainted.
Lanthenas laid his finger softly on her wrist, and in a cautious whispersaid, 'The pulse is intermittent, the "acces" will be brief.'
'We were talking of the death of Caesar,' said Talma, 'when the attackcame on. She would not have it that Brutus was a patriot. She tried toshow that in such natures--stern, cold, and self-denying--patriotism canno more take root than love. I asked her then if Gabriel Riquetti weresuch a man----'
'Hush! she is about to speak,' broke in Madame Roland.
A few soft murmuring sounds escaped Marietta's lips, and her fingersmoved convulsively.
'What is it she says,' cried Louvet, 'of crime and poison?'
'Hush! listen.'
'Examine Comps,' muttered she; 'he knows all.'
'It is Mirabeau's secretary she speaks of,' said Louvet, 'he committedsuicide last night.'
'No; he is not dead, though his wound may prove fatal,' said Cabanis.
'He will live,' said Marietta solemnly, and then seemed to sink into adeep stupor.
'Yes, trust me, I will tell him,' cried she suddenly, with a voice asassured and an accent as firm as though awake. 'Come here and let mewhisper it.'
One after another bent down beside the couch, but she repulsed themsharply, and with a half-angry gesture motioned them away.
Madame Roland knelt down and took her hand, but with the same abruptmovement the other pushed her away, muttering, 'No, not you--not you.'
Again and again did they who knew her best present themselves, but withthe same ill success. Some she drove rudely back, to others she made asign to retire.
'Mayhap the person is not present that you wish for,' said Madame Rolandsoftly.
'He is here,' said she gently.
Name after name of those around did Madame Roland whisper, but allwithout avail. At last, as Langres presented himself, Marietta turnedwith a sort of aversion from him and said--
'I am in search of a prince, and you bring me a butcher.'
This insulting speech was not heard without a smile by some who knewthis man's origin, and detested the coarse ruffianism of his address.
'_Parbleau_, Madame! if you want princes you must go and seek them atthe Francais,' said Langres angrily, as he dropped back into the crowd.
Meanwhile, impelled by a strong desire to test the reality of hervision, Gerald made his way through the throng, and dropping on oneknee, took her hand in his own.
A start and a faint exclamation--half surprise, half joy--broke from heras she felt his touch. She passed her hand over his face, and throughhis long hair, and then bending down kissed him on the forehead. Shewhispered a few words rapidly in his ear, and sank back exhausted.
'She has fainted! Bring water quickly,' cried Lanthenas.
For a few minutes every attention was directed toward her; and it wasonly as she showed signs of recovery, some one asked--
'What has become of De Noe and his friend?'
They were gone.
Gerald Fitzgerald, the Chevalier: A Novel Page 30