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I have already said that nature had gifted me with strong legs, and it was in days like the present that I appreciated the gift.
As yet, I knew not sufficient of Paris to be enabled to extricate myself from the labyrinth of streets which joined the Rue St. Honoré, and which stretched from theRue Aubry le Boucherto theRue Boucherat, so that I spent six or seven minutes in making the necessary inquiries, and at last arrived.
I saw a sombre house in a sombre street. It was No. 7. I mounted a dark-looking staircase, and arrived at the second floor.
Three doors opened on the landing: one of them bore an inscription:—
“Le Citoyen Maximilian de Robespierre, et Deputé à l’Assemblée Nationale.”
I knocked.
I heard footsteps approaching the door, and then stop cautiously.
“Is it you, Maximilian?” asked a voice, in which could be discerned traces of emotion.
“No, mademoiselle,” I replied; “but I bring news of him.”
The door was quickly opened.
“Nothing has happened to him?” asked a stately female of about forty years.
“Here are a few words to reassure you,” I replied.
I then handed her the letter.
It was too dark for her to be enabled to read it in the passage on the landing.
Mademoiselle de Robespierre re-entered the apartment, inviting me to follow her.
I entered a sort of dining-room, opening on a study and bed-room.
All was cold, cheerless, and almost unfurnished. If not actually miserable, it was far below mediocrity.
Mademoiselle Robespierre read her brother’s letter.
“When my brother thinks it needless to tell me where he is, he has his reasons. You have seen him, sir?”
“I have just left him, mademoiselle.”
“Nothing has happened to him?”
“Nothing.”
“Give him my congratulations, sir, and thank for me those people who have been hospitable to him. I would that, after the long walk you have had, I could offer you refreshment; but my brother is so sober, and has such few wants, that we have naught but water in the house.”
At this moment, the tramp of footsteps was heard in the corridor. A woman showed herself at the door of the dining-room, and, dimly, a man could be perceived behind her.
Despite the semi-darkness, I recognised the female, and could not resist crying out, “Madame Roland!”
Mademoiselle Robespierre repeated, in an accent of astonishment, “Madame Roland!”
“Yes, I, myself, mademoiselle, and my husband, who,hearing that Robespierre has been threatened by his enemies, are come to offer him a shelter in our little house at the corner of the Rue Guenegaud.”
“I thank you in my brother’s name, madame,” replied Mademoiselle Charlotte, with dignity. “He has already found the asylum which you so nobly offer him, and which I know not myself. Here is the gentleman who brought the news,” continued she, pointing me out to Madame Roland.
“That proves, mademoiselle,” said, in his turn, the Citizen Roland, “that other citizens are more favored than we;” and remarking that he was unwilling to intrude longer on her privacy, he bowed, and departed with his wife.
As my errand was fulfilled, I followed them, and returned in close conversation with them. Madame Roland was at the Jacobin Club when the paid guard made an irruption among them.
The terror was such among the few members of the society present, that one of them, anxious to escape, escaladed the gallery set aside for women. Madame Roland made him ashamed of himself, and compelled him to descend the way that he had come.
They asked me about Robespierre. I told them that I was not authorized to inform them of his place of shelter, but only could assure them that he was in a place of safety among people who would die for him.
Madame Roland asked me to tell Robespierre that they would bring him to trial—that is to say, accuse him that evening at the Feuillants. In that certainty, she and her husband were going to M. Buzal, to pray him to defend his colleague.
We separated at the top of the Pont Neuf—M. Roland and Madame to go down theRue du Roule. I to follow theRue St. Honoré.
It was quite night when I arrived at Duplay’s. Félicién had rejoined the family during my absence; they were at table, and he regarded askance the new arrival, who took the place of honor between Madame Duplay and Mademoiselle Cornelie. I told M. Robespierre all about the fulfilment of my message, and reported to him his sister’s reply.
I told him also that M. and Madame Roland had paid a visit to his house.
Here he interrupted, and repeated after me,—“Citizen Roland! Citizeness Roland!”
He appeared so astonished at the visit, that he was some time asking me the cause.
I took my place at the table.
“Monsieur,” said Robespierre, after a moment’s silence, with his habitual politeness, “does it please you to serve me to the end?”
“Not only will it be an honor, and a pleasure,” replied I, “but a duty.”
“Well,” said he, “this time you have only a few steps to go, and I shall not have to write a letter. Go to the Rue St. Anne; on the left-hand side, in going up the street, by the Boulevards, you will see theHotel de Berry; there you will inquire for a young man named St. Just. He lives on the fourth floor, in a room overlooking the court. If he be at home, tell him that I want him. My kind host, I hope, will allow me to receive him here. At present, this young man is of no account, but one day he will lead us all. If he be not at home, well; you leave your name and the address of this house, where I have found such good friends, and such noble protectors, and under the address you write, ‘Urgent for the sake of the public safety.’ Whenever he returns, he will come straight here, you may be sure.”
I wished to leave the table, but, placing his hand on my shoulder, he said, “Finish your supper. I am not in so great a hurry, and we have all the night before us.”
Five minutes after, I was proceeding up the Rue St. Anne.
TheHotel de Berryled out of theRue Neuve des Petits-champsand theRue Neuve St. Augustin.
I asked for Citizen St. Just.
The concierge threw his eyes over the keys hung on the wall, and saw that of St. Just was not there.
“No. 19, fourth story, at the bottom of the corridor.”
I mounted a dark staircase, and found the indicated corridor, and in that corridor, No. 19.
I knocked; a powerful voice said, “Come in!”
I turned the key in the lock, and saw a young man inhis shirt-sleeves, working by an open window at the correction of proofs.
He was so absorbed in his work, that I approached and touched him before he turned round.
The book, the proofs of which he was correcting, was, I could see, entitled, “Mespasse temps ou le Voirvel organe.”
The preoccupation of the young poet was caused by the desire to find a rhyme.
The rhyme found, he turned to me.
“Pardon,” said he; “what want you?”
“Citizen St. Just,” replied I, “I come on behalf of Citizen Robespierre.”
“You?”
“Yes. He desires your presence immediately.”
“Where?”
“If you are not prepared, I will leave you the address; but if you are, I will conduct you thither.”
“Is he at the Rue Saintange?”
“No; he is close by here—in the Rue St. Honoré.”
“At the Jacobins?”
“There are no longer Jacobins. The club is dead.”
“Who dared do it?”
“The paid guard, who, an hour before, dared do another thing.”
“What was the other thing?”
“Fire on the people at theChamp de Mars—slay, perchance, six or seven hundred persons!”
St. Just shouted with rage.
“What! you a patriot—the friend of M. Robespierre,—and not know better than that what takes place in Paris?” said I.
“I promised my publisher to have those proofs corrected by Thursday; and in order to accomplish this I told the servant not to disturb me for anything. He brought my breakfast in my chamber, and here is my dinner already served. I have not had time to eat. I knew last night from the Jacobins they must withdraw the petition; and I doubted not that, the petition withdrawn, there might be a disturbance at theChamp de Mars. But let us not lose a moment. Since Robespierre requires me, I am at his orders.”
The young man put on a white waistcoat, irreproachablein its cleanliness; a gray coat; a sword and dagger he hung at his side; then took his hat, and said but the words, “Show the way!”
I went in front, and he followed.