The Hero of the People: A Historical Romance of Love, Liberty and Loyalty
“I ought to have said; do you believe in predictions?”
“I believe that the Supreme Being has benevolently covered the future
with an impenetrable veil. Still,” he went on as if making an effort
over himself to meet questions which he wished relegated into doubt, “I
know a man who sometimes confounds all the arguments of my intelligence
by irrefutable facts. I dare not name him before your Majesty.”
“It is your master, the immortal, the all-powerful, the divine
Cagliostro, is it not, Dr. Gilbert?”
“Madam, my only master is Nature. Cagliostro is but my saver. Pierced by
a bullet in the chest, losing all my blood by a wound which I, a
physician, after twenty years study, must pronounce incurable, he cured
me in a few days by a salve of which I know not the composition: hence
my gratitude to him, I will almost say my admiration.”
“And this man makes predictions which are accomplished?”
“Strange and incredible ones; he moves in the present with a certainty
which makes one believe in his knowledge of the future.”
“So that you would believe if he forecast to you?”
“I should at least act as though it might happen.”
“Would you prepare to meet a shameful, terrible and untimely death if he
foreshowed it?”
“After having tried to escape it by all manner of means,” rejoined
Gilbert, looking steadily at her.
“Escape? No, doctor, no! I see that I am doomed,” said the Queen. “This
revolution is a gulf in which will be swallowed up the throne: this
people is a lion to devour me.”
“Yet it depends on you to have it couch at your feet like a lamb.”
“Doctor, all is broken between the people and me; I am hated and
scorned.”
“Because you do not really know each other. Cease to be a queen and
become a mother to them; forget you are daughter of Maria Theresa, our
ancient enemy, the sister of Joseph our false friend. Be French, and
you will hear the voices rise to bless you, and see arms held out to
fondle you.”
“I know all this,” she replied contemptuously; “fawning one day, they
tear the next.”
“Because aware of resistance to their will, and hatred opposed to their
love.”
“Does this destructive element know whether it loves or hates? it
destroys like the wind, the sea and fire, and has womanly caprices.”
“Because you see it from on high, like the man in the lighthouse views
the ocean. Did you go down in the depths you would see how steady it is.
What more obedient than the vast mass to the movement of the tides. You
are Queen over the French, madam, and yet you know not what passes in
France. Raise your veil instead of keeping it down, and you will admire
instead of dreading.”
“What would I see so very splendid?”
“The New World blooming over the wreck of the Old; the cradle of Free
France floating on a sea wider than the Mediterranean--than the ocean. O
God protect you, little bark--O God shield you, babe of promise,
France!”
Little of an enthusiast as Gilbert was he raised his eyes and hands
heavenward.
The Queen eyed him with astonishment for she did not understand.
“Fine words,” she sneered. “I thought you philosophers had run them down
to dust.”
“No, great deeds have killed them,” returned Gilbert. “Whither tends old
France? to the unity of the country. There are no longer provinces, but
all French.”
“What are you driving at? that your united thirty millions of rebels
should form a universal federation against their King and Queen?”
“Do not deceive yourself: it is not the people who are rebels but the
rulers who have rebelled against them. If you go to one of the feasts
which the people hold, you will see that they hail a little child on an
altar--emblem of the new birth of liberty. Italy, Spain, Ireland,
Poland, all the down-trodden look towards this child and hold out their
enchained hands, saying: ‘France, we shall be free because of you.’
Madam, if it be still time, take this child and make yourself its
mother.”
“You forget that I am the mother of others, and I ought not do as you
suggest--disinherit them in favor of a stranger.”
“If thus it be,” replied Gilbert with profound sorrow, “wrap your
children up in your royal robe, in the war-cloak of Maria Theresa, and
carry them with you far from France; for you spoke the truth in saying
that the people will devour you and your offspring with you. But there
is no time to lose--make haste!”
“You will not oppose?”
“I will further you in the departure.”
“Nothing could fall more timely,” said the Queen, “for we have a
nobleman ready to act in this escape----“
“Do you mean Marquis Favras?” demanded Gilbert, with apprehension.
“Who breathed you his name--who communicated to you his project?”
“Oh, have a care, for a bloody prediction pursued him also.”
“Of the same Prophet? what fate awaits him?”
“Untimely, terrible and infamous like that you mentioned.”
“Then you speak truly--no time must be lost in giving the lie to this
prophet of evil.”
“You were going to tell Favras that you accepted his aid?”
“He was advised and I am awaiting his reply.”
She had not long to wait, for Isidore Charny was ushered in by the
Princess Lamballe.
“I am told that I may speak before Dr. Gilbert,” said he. “Then, know
that Marquis Favras was arrested an hour ago and imprisoned in the
Chatelet.”
Bright but despairing and full of ire, the Queen’s glance crossed that
of the doctor. All her wrath seemed spent in that flash.
“Madam,” said Gilbert with deep pity, “if I can be useful in any way,
make use of me. I lay at your feet my mind, my life, my devotion.”
“Dr. Gilbert,” she said in a slow and resigned voice, “is it your
opinion that the death given by this dread engine is as sweet as the
inventor asserts?”
He sighed and hid his face in his hands.
As the news of Favras’ arrest had circulated over the palace in a few
seconds, Count Provence went to his brother. His advice was that Favras
should be repudiated and the King take the oath to the Constitution.
“But how can I swear fidelity to an incomplete Constitution?”
“The more easily,” replied the schemer, with his false squint which came
from the darkest sinuosities of his soul.
“I will,” said the King: “this does not prevent my writing to Marquis
Bouille that our plan is postponed. This will give Charny time to
regulate the route.”
For his part, Provence acted on part of his own suggestion: he
repudiated Favras and received the thanks of the Assembly.
Favras was left alone save for Cagliostro who perhaps felt a little
remorse that he had let the bravest in the conspiracy go so far in a
mission which he had foredoomed to failure. But Favras would not accept
rescue and met his death by hanging with unblemished courage and honor.
The King took the oath, as he had promised his brother, to the
Constitution, yet in embryo. If he loved it so dearly already, what
would he do when it was in shape?
The ten days following were days of rejoicing; joy in the Assembly; calm
in Paris; altars built all over the town for passers to take oath after
the royal precedent.
The Assembly commanded a Te Deum to be chanted in the Cathedral, where
all gathered to renew the oath in solemnity.
“Why did you not go to the church?” sneered the Queen to her husband.
“Because I do not object to lying for a purpose, but I do not mean to
perjure myself,” said Louis XVI.
The Queen breathed again for until then she had believed in the
monarch’s honesty. She felt empowered by this perfidy to take the same
path and it was after giving her hand for Mirabeau to kiss that this new
leader for the court party vowed that the monarchy was saved.
Her forehead was swathed in a wet bandage, her eyes were wandering and
her face flushed with fever. Amongst the incoherent words, the farmer
thought he could distinguish the name of Isidore.
“I see that it is good time that I came home,” he muttered.
He went forth, and was followed by Pitou, but Dr. Raynal detained the
latter.
“I want you my lad,” he said, “to help Mother Clement hold the patient
while I bleed her for the third time.”
“The third time?” cried Mrs. Billet, awaking from her dulness. “Do you
hear that, my man, they bleed her for the third time.”
“Woman, this would not have happened had you looked after your daughter
closer,” said the farmer in a stern voice.
He went to his room, from which he had been absent three months while
Pitou entered the sick room.
Pitou was astonished but he would have felt more so if he had guessed
that the doctor called him in as a moral remedy.
The doctor had noticed two names as used by the girl in her frenzy, Ange
Pitou and Isidore Charny, and he soon distinguished that one was a
friend’s and the other a dearer one. He concluded that Pitou was the
lovers’ confidant and that there would be no inconvenience in the
gallant’s friend being there to speak with the patient on the mutual
acquaintance.
Everybody knew down here that Valence Charny had been killed at
Versailles and that his eldest brother had called away Isidore on the
next evening.
That night Pitou found Catherine fainted on the high road. When she
revived on the farm, it was to be in a fever, and she raved of some one
riding away whom the doctor judged to be Isidore Charny.
The greatest need to a brain-stricken invalid is calm. To learn about
her lover would best calm Catherine, and she would ask the news of their
friend, Pitou.
On seeing the good effect of the bleeding, the doctor stationed Mother
Clement by her side, with the strange recommendation for her to get some
sleep, and beckoned Pitou to follow him into the kitchen.
Her forehead was swathed in a wet bandage, her eyes were wandering and
her face flushed with fever. Amongst the incoherent words, the farmer
thought he could distinguish the name of Isidore.
“I see that it is good time that I came home,” he muttered.
He went forth, and was followed by Pitou, but Dr. Raynal detained the
latter.
“I want you my lad,” he said, “to help Mother Clement hold the patient
while I bleed her for the third time.”
“The third time?” cried Mrs. Billet, awaking from her dulness. “Do you
hear that, my man, they bleed her for the third time.”
“Woman, this would not have happened had you looked after your daughter
closer,” said the farmer in a stern voice.
He went to his room, from which he had been absent three months while
Pitou entered the sick room.
Pitou was astonished but he would have felt more so if he had guessed
that the doctor called him in as a moral remedy.
The doctor had noticed two names as used by the girl in her frenzy, Ange
Pitou and Isidore Charny, and he soon distinguished that one was a
friend’s and the other a dearer one. He concluded that Pitou was the
lovers’ confidant and that there would be no inconvenience in the
gallant’s friend being there to speak with the patient on the mutual
acquaintance.
Everybody knew down here that Valence Charny had been killed at
Versailles and that his eldest brother had called away Isidore on the
next evening.
That night Pitou found Catherine fainted on the high road. When she
revived on the farm, it was to be in a fever, and she raved of some one
riding away whom the doctor judged to be Isidore Charny.
The greatest need to a brain-stricken invalid is calm. To learn about
her lover would best calm Catherine, and she would ask the news of their
friend, Pitou.
On seeing the good effect of the bleeding, the doctor stationed Mother
Clement by her side, with the strange recommendation for her to get some
sleep, and beckoned Pitou to follow him into the kitchen.
“Cheer up, mother,” said he to Mrs. Billet who was mooning in the
chimney corner, “she is going on as well as possible.”
“It is very hard that a mother cannot care for her child,” said the
farmer’s wife.