Orphans of the Storm Read online

  Yes, France now is running amuck--'ware of her when she strikes!Lafayette and other moderates--indeed, several of the Generalscommanding the patriot armies have fled over the border, disgustedwith the national rabies, utterly unable to quench it.

  The patriot ranks close up. The wilder element of the sansculottesgrasps the helm of State. In the desperate need of a dictatorship tocope against the foreign invasion, Danton procures from theLegislature absolute power for a little inner group, the Committee ofPublic Safety.

  Working on the passions of the people, worming himself into favorby denouncing moderate suspects and advocating the extremestmeasures, our sly acquaintance of the faubourg lodgings--MaximilienRobespierre--becomes the head of this Committee--thereby the Tyrant ofFrance.

  The foreign foe is indeed driven back, but at what a cost! The rule ofRobespierre's fanatical minority that has seized the State,inaugurates the dreadful Reign of Terror. The great Revolutionaryleader Danton--Minister of Justice in the earlier time--has himselfcaused to be established the Revolutionary Tribunal for the quicktrial of the public's foes, and the guillotine for the guilty.Robespierre uses it as a ready forged weapon for destroying all who donot think as he does.

  In this storm-wracked world Jacques-Forget-Not is now a great judgeand a most fanatical patriot. The avenger of the de Vaudreys heads theRevolutionary Tribunal. He is in his glory now, for the aristocratsthat the mobs overlooked are sent in batches to the guillotine--on themost trifling charges, or finally without accusation at all. The merefact of being an aristocrat is a capital offence!

  And in and among these slaughters is intermixed the destruction ofRobespierre's personal and political rivals--a work in which thevengeful Jacques-Forget-Not studies and obeys every whim of hismaster, for does not Jacques also have private grudges as yet unpaid?

  ... But Danton remains a popular hero. For his work in driving backthe foreign foe, he is upraised in chair of state by the multitudes,heading a huzzaing procession and preceded by young girls strewingflowers.

  None of the bloody butchery has been Danton's. He has been too busyfighting Prussia, Austria and Savoy. Today, as he sits in the chair ofstate acknowledging the acclamations, his heart wells in gratitude toHenriette who had once saved his life--no face of treasured memory sodear as hers!

  LOVE, MASTER OF HEARTS.]

  Confessedly, under the New Tyranny, there is nothing to engage thegreat heart and soul. Sick of the murderous scramble for pelf andpower, he withdraws from most political activity, though still able toexert a wide influence.

  * * * * *

  About this time twenty-two political rivals of Robespierre--theGirondists--were sent by one decree to the guillotine. Danton, vainlypleading for mercy, saw that the Committee of Safety machine was beingmade an instrument of slaughter. "France must be purged of all vice!"was Robespierre's sanctimonious reply to his passionate protest. Notlong after, the rival masters of France faced one another in the hallof the Revolutionary Tribunal, whereof Jacques-Forget-Not wasPresident.

  "Well works this Tribunal you established, Danton!" said Robespierre,in glee at the increasing number of executions.

  "It was established," replied the pock-marked man solemnly, "to punishthe enemies of the people. Now through you--Robespierre--France riverswith innocent blood!"

  ... God help our hero and heroine if they should encounter its dreadfury!

  CHAPTER XXI

  ADVENTURES OF A PILGRIM

  Some parts of France continued to be held by the royalists after theestablishment of the Republic.

  Insurrectionary war raged in the provinces, particularly the stubbornwar of La Vendee, and certain loyal fortresses like Caen managed toresist capture.

  It was thus as a prisoner of the royalist faction, and quite out oftouch with worldshaking events, that our young hero Chevalier Mauricede Vaudrey lived through the earlier period of the Revolution.

  A love-message from him through Picard to Henriette--an unsuccessfulattempt to escape; a glimpse of the still handsomely frizzed andpowdered head gazing through trefoil Gothic window on the outersunshine and liberty:--such is all that we may see of de Vaudrey'sstrangely trussed up life during this time.

  He was still enshrined in the heart of the little seamstress in theParis faubourg, still dear to his aunt the Countess who with herhusband was an emigre beyond the borders. Otherwise, no hermit norsolitary was more completely effaced from the world.

  The first light of hope was brought to Caen by a messenger from theCountess, who had managed to smuggle through a letter or two and asmall box of gold.

  "I dare not advise you," his kind Aunt wrote. "Escape into Francewould invite your death as an aristocrat. On the other hand, if youmake use of the accompanying pardon signed by your uncle the Count,the Governor of Caen will probably enroll you for the inhuman anduseless war of La Vendee. Take the money, my dear Nephew, and use itas you deem best--the messenger will secure it for you outside theprison until you need it!"

  De Vaudrey pondered, as his Aunt advised. But, really, there was butthe one course for him! To win through, disguised, at whatever peril,to Henriette; to find her and Louise; to save them from that blackwelter of the Revolution, and guide them out of the country to theloving care of the Countess and the repentant Count: yes, such was thecourse that both Love and Duty dictated. He would begin it that night,aided by his faithful friend the messenger.

  "Hand part of the gold," he whispered the Countess's agent, "to somerustic carter on whom you can rely. Bring another part here and giveit to a keeper whom I shall point out to you!"

  The impromptu little plot worked perfectly. The friendly keeper,having gotten a peep at the ex-Police Prefect's letter of pardon,needed but the clincher argument of the gold in order to aid deVaudrey's escape. A rope over the wall, and even a plank across themoat, were mysteriously provided. In the last silent watch of thenight, the go-between (who had been waiting) conducted the escapedprisoner to the carter's cavern. Already the East was showing theghostly light of the first faint streaks of dawn.

  Having breakfasted in the cave and put his few belongings into a pack,de Vaudrey with the two others stepped out of the dark hole into thegrowing light.

  The carter pointed to the Chevalier's frizzled locks and elegant iffaded dress. "They would take you up at the first village crossing onthat!" he remarked. "Your get-up gives you away."

  The Chevalier retired to a new toilette. Within, were the primitiveresources of rustic wardrobe. As he emerged again from the cavern, oldboon companions would indeed have been startled by the guise he nowwore.

  Beautiful apparel, cane, wig, lorgnette and snuffbox were in thediscard. The frizzled locks were gone, revealing long straight blackhair which was crowned by a shabby tricorne hat. The Chevalier'selegant form was covered by an ill-fitting ragged black suit, which apair of dusty shoes well matched. Across one shoulder he carried apack stick, to which a thoroughly disreputable-looking small blackbundle was fastened.

  "You'll do now," said the rustic. "Remember you're only a helper on acarter's journey to Paris."

  Rustic and helper took their leave of the go-between by plungingthrough a wide but shallow stream. When they had emerged at thefarther bank, they felt secure that their steps could not be traced.Waving good-byes to the other, the rustic and his man hastened to astable where they loaded a provision wagon and attached a countryDobbin to the thills. Presently de Vaudrey, in his new character ofthe carter's assistant, was on the first stage of the long journey tothe storm-wracked metropolis.

  The carter's load was of so little value, the whole outfit sopoverty-stricken, that neither country Royalist nor provincialRevolutionary saw fit to bother them.

  Gradually the carter sold his wares in the smaller villages en route.They wisely avoided the larger towns. The cart was nearly empty now.Saleables had all been disposed of except a few apples.

  "How are you and I going to get into Paris?" said the distinguishedyoung aristoc
rat, whose respect for the Reuben had increased daily.

  "Trust me!" said the other. His broad, moon-faced physiognomy maskedthe cunning of the fox. "I have this apple here--"

  The carter eyed his assistant intently and winked solemnly as if tosay: "That will do the trick!"

  As they leave the open country behind and jog through the bettersettled regions immediately north of Paris, let us take our standbeside the "barrier" or outer gate which they are slowly approaching.

  Judge Forget-Not and his fellows are inspecting the barriers. Thevoice of the Chief is heard speaking.

  "Watch strictly that no aristocrats escape. Our new _law_ alsocondemns to death all who harbor an aristocrat."

  The Inquisitor's face assumes a yet harsher expression as he addressesthe guards: "Beware lest you yourselves be suspect!--Remember thesharp female 'Guillotine'!"

  Forget-Not draws a significant hand across the throat. A shudderpasses through the more timid folk.

  The coarse-faced guards applaud and promise to use the utmostprecautions. The judges move on, inspecting another part of thebarrier.

  CHAPTER XXII

  ADVENTURES OF A PILGRIM (CONTINUED)

  The farmer's cart nears the gate. The moon-faced Reuben is asimpassive as ever. Though the tall assistant manages to keep hisexpression fairly immobile too, 'tis evident to us who know him thathe labors under suppressed excitement. For the prize of his GreatQuest is Henriette; the penalty of discovery and capture, Death!

  The gallant young man does not hesitate, however. He has never shrunkfrom Danger's bright face, least of all would he shrink now when thepassing of a brief ordeal may well mean reunion with his beloved andher rescue from the welter of Paris. The Pilgrim's soul hungers andthirsts for her. After the great Sahara of imprisoned loneliness, hownear the Oasis of love and rapture! How beautiful the prospect, if notindeed Mirage!

  The rustic's helper dismounts with the farmer at the gate, and followshim into the office of the registrar. The farmer presents a pass.

  "This is for one only," says the registrar at the gate, roughly. "Theother cannot go through," he says, pointing to de Vaudrey, who triesto look as stupid and uncomprehending as possible.

  The farmer hands a big red apple to the functionary. But the lattermakes a gesture of refusal.

  "Bite into it!" says the Rustic ingratiatingly.

  The official bites at the top which comes off--a smooth and evenslice. The centre of the apple is hollow. Within it are several goldcoins.

  Quickly the gatekeeper covers the golden apple with his hairy paw."Your papers are all right," he says gruffly, rapidly converting thefigure 1 into a 2, and viseing the pass for two. He motions for boththe man and the youth to go through.

  The farmer and his follower drive in and mix with the crowd on theinside of the barrier. At this stage the farmer disappears from ourhistory. But the face of the youth is noted by an eagle eye andrecognized by a brain that does not forget!

  The prowling Judge sees the Chevalier, though the Chevalier does notsee him.

  "Follow that man!" he says quietly to his deputies. "We shall catchhim red-handed in some plot!"

  * * * * *

  Our little heroine had lived quietly for many months in the faubourglodgings to which, perforce, she had to return after her vain visit tothe Frochard cellar and her rough handling by the Carmognole rioters.The little sparrow of a seamstress was quite undisturbed by the greatevents of the French Revolution, except as they had put everything atsixes and sevens and whirled away her own intimates in the madwhirligig.

  The pock-marked man (whom she had sheltered overnight in this veryplace) was the Savior of the Country; the prying lodger Robespierrewas the Chief of State. Of course she never saw them now, her smallself would hardly dare address them! Sister Genevieve and the Doctor,who had told her about the Frochards' den, were no longer within herken.

  The weary months had dragged along. Notwithstanding the cheeringmessage conveyed by Picard, her knight the Chevalier--so far as sheknew--was still a prisoner of Caen. And the weary months had draggedtheir ball and chain of silence and despair still more wearingly inthe failure of her many renewed attempts to find Louise. The blindsister was again swallowed up in the devouring city--the Frochardswere fled.

  Whither was Henriette to look--whither to turn?

  A ray of light from the window glinted on the holy Book of books thatthe girl treasured. She opened it. A line read at random comfortedher. Clasping the volume in her hands, she knelt in prayer, addressingGod softly:

  "Thou who hast said: 'I am the Light!' oh, show me the way!"

  At the sound of a knock at the door, the girl rose from hersupplications. Entered sad and dusty pilgrim, carrying his fewbelongings in bag suspended from shoulder stick. Now they droppedsharply to the floor, and the disguised Chevalier gazed long andearnestly upon his love.

  Her eyes in turn were riveted on his sad, lean apparition, howterribly changed from the old debonair days! Kind sympathy spoke inher look and mien till the radiance of love, beginning in littleghosts of welcoming smiles at the corners of her mouth, broke intoclear effulgence.

  The Chevalier tottered forward. He collapsed into the nearest chair.

  She put her arms around him and hovered there, comforting him withaffectionate little hand pats and soft kisses.

  Jacques-Forget-Not, the avenger of the de Vaudreys, had not been farbehind during the pilgrim's tramp across the city. He had in factsneaked back of him, seen the wanderer enter Henriette's door.Standing at the head of the stair, he could almost overhear strayphrases of their talk, knew that they were quite within his power.

  The shaggy-haired one fairly gloated in his triumph. "Number One!" hehissed, raising a forefinger in token that de Vaudrey--the first ofhis Trinity of Hate--was in the net. "Two and Three shall come next!"he whispered savagely, knuckling down two other fingers to mark hisvengeance on the Count and Countess.

  The shaggy-haired Forget-Not hurried down the stairs, his gauntfeatures baleful with unholy glee. Pointing significantly overhead, heordered a detail of his guards:

  "Arrest de Vaudrey and all in that room!" The men at once proceeded tocarry out the order.

  * * * * *

  The guard captain would have been equally at home in a pirate crew orat a land massacre. Enormous black brows and heavy moustacheaccentuated his ferocity, the particolored Revolutionary garb and inparticular the red-and-white striped pantaloons gave him a bizarreappearance like a pirate chief.

  The detail were armed with muskets and bayonets. They clattered up thestairs and burst into Henriette's room.

  The lovers seemed dazed rather than affrighted. They clasped eachother again. With a little warning gesture Henriette bade Maurice saynothing when the captain addressed him as de Vaudrey.

  The villain laid a heavy hand on his victim while two of the soldiersseized and pinioned his arms. "You are under arrest as a returnedemigre!" the head pirate said.

  Then he turned his attention to Henriette who made futile littleefforts like a tiny mother wren.

  "You are also under arrest, Citizeness," said the captain harshly,"for the crime of sheltering a returned aristocrat."

  "She cannot be blamed," interrupted de Vaudrey. "I entered this place,uninvited."

  "Silence!" roared the Captain. "Your plea, if any, must be made to theRevolutionary Tribunal."

  CHAPTER XXIII

  BEFORE THE DREAD TRIBUNAL

  That awful Tribunal sat daily. During the height of the Terror, notime was allowed to prisoners for the preparation of their cases--nointerval elapsed between the prisoners' arrest and their arraignment.Dispatch--_dispatch_--DISPATCH was the essence of the bloody business,the purpose being to strike terror upon all that opposed the littlefanatical minority then in power.

  Therefore the guard brought Henriette and Maurice directly fromtheir arrest to their trial, and they gazed upon a sight for Godsand men--a tr
avesty on the sacred name of justice. Such sceneswould seem unbelievable to us but for the recent events of theRussian Revolution, which prove that in our age also a proletariandictatorship can be senselessly wicked and cruel.

  The trials--beside their Terror function of upholding a minoritygovernment--were great public shows for the howling rabble andleering sansculottes, the hoodlums of Paris whom even the mastersdared not offend. The riff-raff acted exactly as at any of their owncelebrations and feastings.

  Along the side benches and up on the "Mountain," flirtation andsweethearting went on, of a rough-and-ready order. Some spectatorscoolly munched their dinners. Others, having brought along theirbottles, indulged in drinking bouts. Everyone's ideas of a good timecannot be the same. There was our eccentric acquaintance the JollyBaker, for instance. The height of bliss for him, at one of thesecapital trials, was to lean far, far back with open mouth whilst atilted bottle, held by a ministering Hebe, spilled ecstatic drops ofdamp and ruby "happiness" upon his "open-face" physiognomy.

  Another misfit of the grotesque crowds was Picard, foolishly trying todiscover what 'twas all about, gazing soulful-eyed into hoodlum "mugs"that gave him the merry "ha! ha!" or sickened him with the likeness ofthe First Murderer. But "crime," in one instance at least, wasfollowed by "punishment," for as the murderous citizen suddenly thrustout his roaring raucous mouth, Picard inadvertently leaned back.

  LOUISE AND LA FROCHARD TRYING TO KEEP PIERRE, THE CRIPPLE,FROM FIGHTING HIS BROTHER JACQUES.]