CHAPTER VII. A SUPPER WITH THE 'FRIENDS OF THE PEOPLE'
There is a strange similarity between the moral and the physical evilsof life, which extends even to the modes by which they are propagated.We talk of the infection of a fever, but we often forget that prejudicesare infinitely more infectious. The poor man, ill-fed, ill-housed,ill-clad, destitute, heart-sick, and weary, falls victim to the firstepidemic that crosses his path. So with the youth of unfixed faithand unsettled pursuits: he adopts any creed of thought or opinion warmenough to stimulate his imagination and fix his ambition. How few arethey in life who have chosen for themselves their political convictions;what a vast majority is it that has adopted the impressions that floataround them!
Gerald Fitzgerald supped with Marat at the Rue de Moulins: he sat downwith Fauchet, Etienne, Chaptal, Favart and the rest--all writers for the_Ami du Peuple_--all henchmen of the one great and terrible leader.
Gerald had often taken his part in the wild excesses of a youthfulorigin; he had borne a share in those scenes where passion stimulatedby debauch becomes madness, and where a frantic impetuosity usurps theplace of all reason and judgment; but it was new to him to witness ascene where the excesses were those of minds worked up by the wildestnights of political ambition, the frantic denunciations of politicaladversaries, and the maddest anticipations of a dreadful vengeance. Theytalked before him with a freedom which, in that time, was rarely heard.They never scrupled to discuss all the chances of their party, and thecasualties of that eventful future that lay before them.
How the monarchy must fall--how the whole social edifice of France mustbe overthrown--how nobility was to be annihilated, and a new code ofdistinction created, were discussed with a seriousness, mingled with thewildest levity. That the road to these changes lay through blood, neverfor a moment seemed to check the torrent of their speculations. Someamused themselves by imaginary lists of proscriptions, giving thenames and titles of those they would recommend for the honours of theguillotine.
'Every thing,' cried Guadet, 'everything that calls itself Duke,Marquis, or Count.'
'Do not include the Barons, Henri, for my cook is of that degree, and Icould not spare him,' cried Viennet.
'Down with the aristocrat,' said several; 'he stands by his order, evenin his kitchen.'
'Nay,' broke in Viennet, 'I am the first of you all to reduce thesepeople to their becoming station.'
'Do not say so,' said Gensonne: 'the Marquis de Trillac has been agamekeeper on my property this year back.'
'Your property!' said Marat contemptuously. 'Your paternal estate wasa vegetable stall in the Marche aux Bois; and your ancestral chateau, aroom in the Pays Latin, five stories high.'
'You lived at the same house, in the cellar, Marat; and, by your ownaccount, it was I that descended to know you!'
'If he talks of property, I'll put him in _my_ list,' said Laroche. 'Hewhose existence is secure is unworthy to live.'
'A grand sentiment that,' said another; 'let us drink it!' and theyarose and drained their glasses to the toast.
'The Duc de Dampierre, has any one got him down?' asked Guadet.
'I have '--' and I '--' and I,' said several together.
'I demand a reprieve for the Duke,' said another. 'I was at college withhim at Nantes, and he is a good fellow, and kind-hearted.'
'Miserable patriot,' said Guadet, laughing, 'that can place his personalsympathies against the interests of the State.'
'_Parbleu!_' cried Laroche, looking over his neighbour's arm. 'Gensonnehas got Robespierre's name down!'
'And why not? I detest him. Menard was right when he called him a "_Loupen toilette de bal!_"'
'What a list Menard has here!' said Guadet, holding it up, as he readaloud. 'All who have served the court, or whose families have, forthe last three generations--all who employ court tailors, barbers,shoemakers, or armourers----'
'Pray add, all whose names can be traced to baptismal registries, or whoare alleged to have been born in wedlock,' said Lescour. 'Let us effacethe vile aristocracy effectually!'
'Your sneer is a weak sarcasm,' said Marat savagely. 'Menard is right:it is not man by man, but in platoons, that our vengeance must beexecuted.'
'I have an uncle and five cousins, whom, from motives of delicacy, Ihave not denounced. Will any one do me the favour to write the Count deRochegarde and his sons?'
'I adopt them with pleasure. I wanted a count or two among my barons.'
'I drink to all patriots,' said Marat, draining his glass, and turning afull look on Fitzgerald.
'I accept the toast,' said Gerald, drinking.
'And I too,' cried Louvet, 'though I do not understand it.'
'By patriot, I mean one who adores liberty,' said Marat
'And hates the tyrant,' cried another.
'For the liberty to send my enemy to the guillotine, I am ready to fightto-morrow,' said Guadet.
'For whom, let me ask, are we to make ourselves hangmen and headsmen?'cried a pale, sickly youth, whose voice trembled as he spoke. 'Thefurious populace will not thank you that you have usurped theirhunting-grounds. If you run down _their_ game, they will one day turnand rend you!'
'Ah, Brissot, are you there, with your bland notions stolen from Plato!'cried Guadet. 'It is pleasant even to hear your flute-stop in the wildconcert of our hoarse voices!'
'As to liberty, who can define it!' exclaimed Brissot.
'I can,' cried Lescour. 'The right to guillotine one's neighbour!'
'Who ever understood the meaning of equality?' continued Brissot,unheeding him. 'Procrustes was the inventor of it!'
'And for fraternity: what is it--who has ever practised it?'
'Cain is the only instance that occurs to me,' said Guadet gravely.
'I drink to America,' said Marat. 'May the infant republic live by thedeath of the mother that bore her!'
A wild hurrah followed the toast, which was welcomed with madenthusiasm.
'The beacon of liberty we are lighting here,' continued he, 'will besoon answered from every hill-top and mountain throughout Europe--fromthe snow-peaks of Norway to the olive-crowned heights of theApennines--from the bleak cliffs of Scotland to the rocky summits of theCarpathians.'
In a strain bombastic and turgid, but marked at times by flashes of realeloquence, he launched out into one of those rhapsodies which formed thestaple of his popular addresses. The glorious picture of a people free,happy, and prosperous was so mingled with a scene of vengeance andretribution, that the work of the guillotine was made to seem the chiefagent of civilisation. The social condition of the nation was described,in the state of a man whose life could only be preserved at the cost ofa terrible amputation. The operation once over, the body would recoverits functions of health and stability. This was the image dailyreproduced, till the public mind grew to regard it as a truism. Thenoblesse represented the diseased and rotten limb, whose removal was soimperative, and there were but too many circumstances which served tofavour the comparison.
Gerald was of an age when fervour and daring exercised a deeperinfluence than calm conviction. The men of warm and glowing impulses,of passionate words and desperate achievements, are sure to exercise apowerful sway over the young, especially when they themselves are fromthe accident of fortune in the position of adventurers. The languagehe now heard was bold and definite: there was nothing of subterfuge orconcealment about it. The men who spoke were ready to pledge their livesto their words; they were even more willing to fight than preach. Therewas, besides, a splendid assertion of self-devotion in their plans;personal advancement had no place in their speculations. All was forFrance and Frenchmen: nothing for a party; nothing for a class. Theiraspirations were the highest too; the liberty they contended for was tobe the birthright of every man. Brissot, beside whom Gerald sat, was onewell adapted to captivate his youthful admiration. His long fair hair,his soft blue eyes, an almost girlish gentleness of look, contrastingwith the intense fervour with which he uttered his convictions, imparteda
n amount of interest to him that Gerald was not slow to appreciate. Hespoke, besides, with--what never fails in its effect--the force of anintense conviction. That they were to regenerate France; that thenation long enslaved, corrupted and degraded was to be emancipated,enlightened, and elevated by _them_, was his heartfelt belief. Thematerial advantages of a great revolution to those who should effect it,he would not stop to consider. In his own phrase: 'It was not to a mereland flowing with milk and honey Moses led the Israelites, but to a landpromised to their forefathers, to be a heritage to their children!'
It is true his companions regarded him as a wild and dreamy enthusiast,impracticable in his notions, and too hopeful of humanity; but theywisely saw how useful such an element of 'optimism' was in flavouringthe mass of their dangerous doctrines, and how the sentiments of such aman served to exalt the tone of their opinions. While the conversationwent on around the table, the speakers, warming with the themes, growingeach moment more bold and more animated, Brissot turned his attentionsentirely to Fitzgerald. He not only sketched off to him the men aroundthe board, but, in a few light touches, characterised their opinions andviews.
At the conclusion of a description in which he had spoken with the mostunguarded frankness, Gerald could not help asking him how it was thathe could venture to declare so openly his opinions to a perfect strangerlike himself.
Brissot only smiled, but did not answer.
'For, after all,' continued Gerald, 'I am here in the camp of the enemy!I _was_ a Royalist; I am so still.'
'But there are none left, _mon cher_; the King himself is not one.'
'Ready to die for the throne------'
'There is no throne; there is an old arm-chair, with the gilding rubbedaway!'
'At all events there was a right to defend------'
'The right to live has an earlier date than the right to rule,' saidBrissot gravely; and seeing that he had caught the other's attention, helaunched forth into the favourite theme of his party, the wrongs of thepeople. Unlike the generality of his friends, Brissot did not dwell onthe vices and corruptions of the nobles. It was the evils of povertyhe pictured; the hopeless condition of those whose misery made themfriendless.
'If you but knew the suffering patience of the poor,' said he, 'thestubbornness of their devotion to those above them in station; the tacitsubmission with which they accept hardship as their birthright, youwould despair of humanity--infinitely more from men's humility thanfrom their cruelty! We cannot stir them; we cannot move them,' cried he.'"They are no worse off than their fathers were," that is their reply.If the hour come, however, that they rise up of themselves----'
Once more did Gerald revert to the hardihood of such confessions to astranger, when the other broke in----
'Does the shipwrecked sailor on the raft hesitate to stretch out hishand to the sinking swimmer beside him. Come home with me from this,and let me speak to you. You will learn nothing from these men. Thereis Marat again! he has but one note in his voice, and it is to utter thecry of Blood!'
While the stormy speaker revelled wildly in the chaos of his incoherentthoughts, conjuring up scenes of massacre and destruction, the othersmadly applauding him, Brissot stole away, and beckoned Gerald to followhim.
It was daybreak ere they separated, and as Gerald gained his chambers hetore the white cockade he had long treasured as a souvenir of his daysof Garde du Corps in pieces, and scattered the fragments from his windowto the winds.
Gerald Fitzgerald, the Chevalier: A Novel Page 32