Robert Tournay: A Romance of the French Revolution

by William Sage

  CHAPTER III

  THE BAKER AND HIS FAMILY

  The Count d'Arlincourt had just left the palace at Versailles.

  He had been present at the reception to the Royal Flanders regiment. Hehad heard their vow of fidelity to the king. He had been among theofficers and the nobles of the court who had trampled under foot thetricolor of Paris and decorated their coats with the white cockade, andnow he left the royal presence with his sovereign's thanks andcommendations ringing in his ears.

  As he proceeded through the courtyard three gentlemen entered at themain gate. A shade of annoyance passed over the count's brow as herecognized St. Hilaire and two other noblemen, all members of the StatesGeneral, and all reputed to lean somewhat too radically toward thepopular side in politics. He had hardly seen St. Hilaire since thebreakfast party at the house of the latter three months before. Thetoast of the marquis and his expressed sympathy with revolutionaryorders had caused a decided estrangement.

  Indeed, St. Hilaire and the two noblemen who were with him had becomealienated from their order, and many of their former friends among thenobility had refused to speak or hold any relations with them whatever.

  The count could not avoid meeting them, but he was undecided whether toignore them entirely or pass them with such a slight inclination of thehead as to be equally cutting.

  The cordial bow of the Marquis de St. Hilaire, however, for whom he hadalways felt a peculiar and inexplicable regard, caused him to change hismind.

  He saluted the three gentlemen politely, though with a certain reserveof manner natural to him, and addressed St. Hilaire.

  "A word with you, marquis," he said, "if I may be pardoned for takingyou from these gentlemen for a few minutes?"

  St. Hilaire turned to his companions: "With your permission, messieurs,I will join you in five minutes in the palace."

  The gentlemen bowed in assent and walked toward the palace, leaving thecount and the marquis alone in the centre of the court.

  "You were not present at the reception in the palace. We missed yougreatly, marquis," the former began, with an attempt at cordiality ofmanner, having resolved to make one last appeal to his friend.

  "Thank you, my dear d'Arlincourt, for your kindness in saying so,"replied the marquis affably, "but I must tell you frankly that even ifaffairs in the Assembly had not claimed my time, other circumstanceswould have rendered my presence at this banquet impossible."

  "The king," continued d'Arlincourt quietly, "inquired for you severaltimes and seemed much disturbed at your absence."

  "I am now on my way to wait upon his majesty," replied St. Hilaire.

  The count's face lighted up. "A tardy apology is better than none atall, for I presume you are going to explain your absence."

  "The two gentlemen who have left us, and myself, have been sent by theconvention as a committee to urge his majesty to sanction their latestdecrees,--the bill relating to popular rights," replied St. Hilairequietly.

  "For the love of Heaven, Raphael!" burst out the count, "can it bepossible that you intend to persist in championing the popular cause,like the Duke d'Orleans, or the Marquis de Lafayette? Your presentposition is that of a madman. Come back to our side now. To-morrow itmay be too late."

  "For the life of me, Andre," replied St. Hilaire lightly, "I cannot tellyou to-day what my line of action will be to-morrow, but in any case Ibeg you will not compare me either with the duke or Lafayette. I amneither as dull as the one nor as virtuous as the other. Why not permitme still to resemble only the Marquis de St. Hilaire?"

  "Then," replied the count warmly, "I tell you that as the Marquis de St.Hilaire, your duty to the king should have brought you to the receptionin honor of the Flanders regiment."

  The marquis dropped his air of levity suddenly. "Do you know, count,"he said slowly, "I have just come from the Assembly, where news reachedus a little while ago that a mob of forty thousand was marching fromParis toward Versailles."

  The count started with surprise, but betrayed no other emotion.

  "Is it a fitting time to be feting a regiment composed of mercenaries?Is it a fitting time to be clinking glasses and drinking toasts whenforty thousand men and women are approaching with their cry for bread?"

  The count drew himself up as he replied,--"What more fitting time couldthere be for the loyal nobles to gather about their sovereign than inthe hour of danger? I, for one, would not let the fear of any Paris mobkeep me from the king's side at such a moment."

  St. Hilaire flushed deeply. "Count d'Arlincourt," he said quickly, "Ipass over that insinuation because it comes from an old friend. But knowthis: that I am one of the members of the Assembly who have sworn tosupport the constitution and enforce the rights of man. I should indeedhave been false to my trust had I participated in a fete to theseforeigners where oaths were openly made to defeat that constitution."

  "Our ideas of duty evidently differ," replied the count stiffly. "Myduty is to my king."

  "They do differ," said St. Hilaire. "My first allegiance is to thenation. Count d'Arlincourt, I respect you and your opinions, but I alsohave a regard for my oath. I have chosen my path and I shall followit."

  "Good-day, Marquis de St. Hilaire," said the count, in his usual coldmanner.

  "Farewell, Count d'Arlincourt," was the polite rejoinder, and raisinghis hat St. Hilaire passed onward in the direction of the palace.

  Forty thousand men and women were marching from Paris to Versailles.They had forced a king to recall a banished minister. They had sacked aprison fortress,--razing to the ground walls that had frowned on themfor ages, wiping out in one day a landmark of tyranny that had beenstanding there for centuries. Now they were coming to see their king athis palace. They had heard of the banquet at Versailles, given in honorof the royal Flanders regiment, where wine had flowed like water andwhere food was in abundance. At such a banquet, they argued, there mustbe bread enough for the whole world; and they were coming to get theirshare of it.

  Although it was in the month of October, the sun was hot and the roaddusty. In the front rank, amid all the dust and sweat and noise, walkedRobert Tournay. He carried no weapon, nor did he seek to lead; butanimated by curiosity and by sympathy, he felt himself drawn into thisgreat heaving mass of people who had decided to correct these abusesthemselves, even if to do it they had to take the laws into their ownhands.

  Hearing a shout and rumble of wheels behind him, Tournay looked over hisshoulder to see a cannon coming through the crowd, which parted on eachside to let it pass, and then closed up behind it. This cannon was drawnalong the road by a score of men, whose bare feet, beating the dust,sent up a pulverous cloud that blew back into the faces of those behindlike smoke.

  Seated upon the gun carriage, her hair streaming in the wind, was ayoung woman wearing the red cap of liberty, and waving in her hand ablood-red flag. The cannon stopped under the shade of some poplar trees,and men stood around it wiping the perspiration from their foreheads.

  "A cheer for the Goddess of Liberty," cried a voice in the crowd. Ashout went up that made the poplars tremble.

  "Citizens," cried the girl, in response, standing erect and flinging herflag to the breeze, "you want bread!"

  "Bread! Bread!" was the answering shout.

  "The women of Paris will lead you to it. Then you shall helpyourselves."

  "Show us where it is and we'll take it fast enough," was the answeringcry.

  "Where should it be but in the king's palace? There they are feastingwhile the people in Paris are starving. They shall give the people oftheir bread!"

  "What if they have eaten it all?" asked another voice.

  "Then shall the king bake more," answered the girl--"enough for everyone in his kingdom. He shall be the nation's baker, and his wife shallhelp him knead the dough, and their little boy shall give out theloaves."

  There was a laugh at this and cries of "Good! Good!"

  "My friends," she continued, taking off her cap and swinging it by thetassel, "this mar
ching is hot work, and talking is dry business. Has anyone a drink for La Demoiselle Liberte?"

  A number of bottles were instantly proffered her.

  "This _eau de vie_ puts new life into one," she exclaimed, throwing backher head and putting a flask to her lips. With an easy gesture she tooka deep draught of the liquor, to the increasing admiration of thebystanders. On removing the bottle from her lips, she said with a nod:"How many of you men can beat that? Here goes one more." She was on thepoint of repeating the act when she caught sight of Tournay, who haddrawn near and stood by the wheel of the truck looking at her intently.

  "Here, friend, you look at this liquor thirstily; take a good pull atit. You're a likely youth, and a sup of brandy will foster yourstrength! What! You will not drink? Bah, man! I would not have it saidthat I was a little boy, afraid of good liquor. But why do you stare atme like that, without speaking? Have you no tongue?" Tournay put asidethe proffered bottle and said:--

  "I stared at you because I know you. You are Marianne Froment, themiller's daughter, who left La Thierry a year ago. And you shouldremember Robert Tournay."

  The young woman shook her head with a decided gesture.

  "You mistake, friend; my name is not Marianne Froment. I know no miller,and have never heard of the place you speak of."

  Tournay remembered when he had seen her last in the alley of the park.He felt no animosity toward her; instead he felt compassion for thesilly girl whose head had been turned by the flattery of a nobleman whohad already grown tired of her.

  "It is you who are mistaken, Marianne," he replied quietly, "althoughwhen I knew you at La Thierry, drinking strong liquor was not one ofyour practices."

  "I am La Demoiselle Liberte," replied the girl defiantly, throwing herbrown curls back from her forehead and replacing her cap. "I have drunksuch liquor as this from my cradle. So here's to you! May you some daygrow to be a man."

  Tournay stayed the bottle in its course to her lips, and took her handin his.

  "You are Marianne Froment," he persisted, "and it would be much betterfor you to be in the quiet country of La Thierry. Why not go back?"

  "If Marianne did go back, who would speak to her? Who among all thosewho live there would take her by the hand?" she asked.

  "Have I not taken you by the hand just now?" asked Tournay.

  "I believe you would be the only one," she replied, stifling a sigh."Not even my father would do that. But you are no longer at La Thierry.What are you doing here, and what sent you away from home? Are you goingback?"

  Tournay shook his head. "There are reasons," he replied slowly, "why Ican never return."

  "Neither can Marianne Froment," rejoined the girl. "Therefore,compatriot, drink with me to our future good comradeship. And pass thebottle to your neighbor. Then let us go on together. _En avant_, myfriends," she cried out in a loud voice. "The sooner we start again theearlier we shall reach our bakery. Follow the carriage of La DemoiselleLiberte, and she will lead you to it."

  A score of brawny arms grasped the ropes attached to the truck, and witha heavy rattle the cannon was drawn through the crowd, which cheered iton its way.

  The forty thousand swept into Versailles in an overpowering tide,finding nothing to stop their triumphant course.

  The crowd choked up the streets of the town, filling the public squareand invading the Assembly chamber.

  The Assembly, with all the gravity and dignity of its recent birth, roseto its feet to greet as many of the Paris deputation as could crowd intothe room, steaming with the sweat and dust of the march. Outside thedoor another crowd remained, clamoring noisily.

  The president of the Assembly addressed them in a few words full ofdignity. "I have just learned," he said in his quiet way, "that theking has been pleased to accord his royal sanction to all the articlesof the Bill of Popular Rights which was passed by your Assembly on the5th of August."

  "Will that give the people more bread?" asked La Demoiselle, looking upat Tournay with an inquiring expression in her brown eyes. Despite herred cap, her swagger, and her boisterous talk, she was very pretty andchild-like. As he looked down upon her standing by his side her brownhead did not reach his shoulder.

  "Whether it gives them bread or not, it is a glorious thing for thepeople," exclaimed Tournay with enthusiasm.

  A few minutes later the demoiselle yawned. "The old fellow is tootiresome," she said; "let us go to the palace and get our bread."

  Evidently the same thought moved the rest of the deputation. They beganto file out, while President Meunier was still addressing them, with arestless scuffling of their feet, and a murmuring among themselves, "Tothe palace! To the palace!"

  The last Tournay saw of Demoiselle Liberte she was pushing through thecrowd that made way for her right willingly, while she cried out: "Iwill show you the bakery, my brave people; I am now on my way tointerview the chief baker."

  * * * * *

  The forty thousand got their bread. They got their bread and more. Theypressed in so close upon their monarch, they were so menacing, sodetermined in their way, that he promised to dismiss his royal Flandersregiment and go back to Paris with his beloved subjects. And so thehungry, sullen, desperate mob became a shouting, happy, victorious one.They cheered their monarch, who had sworn to be a father to his people;they cheered the royal family, even the queen; but most of all theycheered the loaves of bread which were distributed among the eagermultitude. Every shop in the town was soon depleted of its stock, andall the bakers were working over-time to supply the food.

  "Did I not tell you I would lead you where bread was plenty?" demandedthe Demoiselle de la Liberte gayly of those gathered around. "The kingis a capital baker; we have only to keep him with us and we shall havefood at all times." And she dipped her crust in a cup of wine.

  "We will take our baker back with us to Paris," cried one.

  "Aye, and the baker's wife and his little boy," cried another. At thisthere was a laugh.

  Tournay, who had aided in the distribution of the food, approached thegroup, relieved by the thought that all were satisfied and contented, atleast for the moment.

  "Ah, there is my handsome compatriot," exclaimed the demoiselle as soonas she set eyes upon him. "Wilt thou join us in our supper, compatriot?"she called out. She was seated carelessly on the truck of thegun-carriage, with a cup of wine in one hand and a half-loaf in theother, her face flushed with excitement. Unlike most of the women whostood about her, she was of graceful form, with hands and armsunblackened by hard toil, and the skin of her throat soft and white. Shewore her red cap in a rakish manner on the side of her head, its tasselfalling down over her forehead between her eyes. Every little while shewould throw it back by a quick toss of the head.

  Tournay took the cup from her outstretched hand, and put it to his lips."Marianne," he said in a low tone, "it would be better if you were athome among your own people."

  "Why do you still call me by that name?" she asked in a tone ofsuppressed passion. "_My_ home is Paris. _These_ are my people. Theynever question who I am nor whence I came. There is not one in LaThierry who would deal thus with me, unless it be yourself. You took myhand this morning. And for that I will take yours and call you mycompatriot." Then changing to her usual tone of gayety, she cried aloud,"Come, compatriot! This has been a glorious day. The people of Parishave captured their king and are about to take him to Paris. Give us atoast!"

  Tournay felt that what she had said was true. Probably not one of thosewho had known Marianne in La Thierry would speak to her should shereturn there. He turned to those who stood around the gun. "Friends," hecried, "I drink to freedom! May all among you who love it as I do livefor it and be ready to die for it." There was a shout as he turned awayand left them, and over his shoulder, looking back, he saw thedemoiselle dancing on the cannon, cup in hand.

  He left the crowded part of the city to find some quiet spot as a changefrom the noise and tumult of the past two days. Turning a corner he cameface
to face with a man whom he had seen among the crowd in the Assemblyhall,--a man of gigantic stature with deep-set eyes. His appearance wasso striking that he could have passed nowhere unnoticed, and even in thecrowded hall Tournay's gaze had returned to him constantly. As they met,Tournay again looked at him earnestly. The man stopped with the abruptquestion:--

  "Why did you come to Versailles?"

  "Because," answered Tournay, "when I saw great numbers of people inParis starving, and heard of the banqueting here, my blood boiled. ThisFlanders regiment, which is feeding fat at the people's cost, must besent away. We cannot pause on our way to freedom with the destruction ofthe Bastille. The king must come to Paris where the people need him, andnot spend his time here under the influence of a corrupt nobility."

  "The king," mused the other; "do you believe in kings?"

  "How do you mean?--'Do I believe in kings'?"

  "Seventeen years ago," said the giant, "when only a boy, I stood in thecathedral at Rheims while the coronation of the king was taking place.I had never seen a king before, and moved by a strong desire to see abeing so exalted, I had walked many leagues to gratify my curiosity.When I saw a pale-faced stripling kneel before the archbishop to receivethe crown, I could hardly keep from bursting into loud laughter at thethought that such a puny creature could hold the destiny of a greatnation in his hands. I have often thought of it since, and to this dayit is as absurd as it was then."

  "I think a nation should have a king," said Tournay, after a fewmoments' thought. "But he should reign in the interests of his people.And of all the people, not a small part."

  "And so you came down here to see that our little king did his duty,"suggested the large man, smiling.

  "I came here, as I have already said, because in my humble way I wantedto do something for my country."

  "For your country?" repeated his companion interrogatively; "for thepeople?"

  "Yes," answered Tournay, "the people,--the common people, to whom Ibelong; those who have never had a voice lifted up to speak for them,nor a hand to fight their battles."

  "There is a voice to speak for them at last," replied the giant, hiseyes shining with a fierce light. "France is full of them. From north tosouth, from east to west, they have been called and are answering. Inthe Assembly their voices are heard. In every street in Paris theirvoices are heard. I can speak for them and I will; aye and fight forthem too," and he lifted his massive arm with a gesture which in itsforce seemed to indicate that alone he could fight for and win thepeople's cause. "Throughout France there are millions of arms which likemine are ready to strike down tyranny. Have no fear, my friend. Thenation has found a champion in itself! The people have taken up theirown cause!" The power of the man, his earnestness and energy, stirredTournay to the depths of his soul. He looked with admiration at thelion-like figure standing before him. Then grasping the man's hand hesaid with earnestness:--

  "I too am one of them,--I may not be of much use, still I am one. Willyou show me how I can be of more service?"

  "A stout arm and a brave heart are always worth much," replied thegiant. "I like you, friend; your voice has the true ring in it. Andwhere Jacques Danton likes he trusts. Come with me and I will tell youmore."